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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
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https://archive.org/details/centralparkOOguil_O 


THE 


CENTRAL  PARK 

PHOTOGRAPHED 
BY  W.  H.  GUILD,  Jr., 

WITH 

DESCRIPTIONS  AND  A  HISTORICAL  SKETCH, 

BY  FRED.  B.  PERKINS. 


“  I  know  each  lane,  and  every  valley  green, 

And  every  bosky  bourn,  from  side  to  side.” — Comits. 

NEW  YORK: 

CARLETON,  PUBLISHER,  413  BROADWAY. 


M.DCCC.LXIV. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1863, 

By  G.  W.  CARLETON, 

In  the  Clerk’s  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


ALVORD,  ELECTROTYPER  AND  PRINTER. 


V 


§  eviration. 


TO 

THOSE  FEW  BUT  TRIED  FRIENDS 

WHOSE 

PERSEVERANCE,  TASTE,  ENTERPRISE,  AND  MEANS 

8TIMTTLATED  AND  SECURED 

THE  ORIGINATION,  EXECUTION  AND  PUBLICATION 


THIS  WORK, 


IT  IS,  AS  A  PARTIAL  TESTIMONY  TO  THEIR 

ENCOURAGING  AND  SELF-SACRIFICING  KINDNESS  AND  ZEAL, 

(AND  BY  ESPECIAL  PERMISSION) 


RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED. 


PREFACE. 


No  collection  of  views  of  the  Park  completely  satisfactory, 
as  an  artistic  production,  can  be  made  these  ten  years.  Then, 
the  grounds  will  be  laid  out,  the  buildings  finished,  the  foliage 
massed  and  lined,  the  pedestals  of  the  Terrace  occupied  by 
their  destined  statuary.  And  whenever  a  better  book  than 
this  shall  appear,  and  better  pictures,  the  makers  of  these  will 
cordially  welcome  them. 

The  Historical  Sketch  is  chiefly  concerned  about  the 
aesthetic  career  of  the  Park.  Its  political  and  financial  man¬ 
agement  were  far  less  safe,  and  not  as  appropriate  subjects 
for  this  book.  But  none  the  less  are  remembrance  and 
credit  due  to  the  Board  of  Commissioners,  collectively  and 
individually,  for  the  great  amount  of  obscure  and  severe  labor 
which  they  have  unstintedly  bestowed  in  securing  appro¬ 
priations,  overcoming  and  conciliating  political  and  personal 
oppositions  and  interests. 

The  descriptions  in  this  book  were  written  in  the  presence 
of  the  scenes  described.  They  are  set  down  as  if  in  the  course 
of  a  walk  about  the  Park,  and  as  if  orally  delivered  to  a  com¬ 
panion,  with  the  pictures  in  hand  meanwhile.  Various  things 


6 


Preface. 


are  thus  told  which  the  pictures  do  not  show,  but  which  may 
be  seen  at  the  places  mentioned,  or  were  seen  there ;  and  the 
book  becomes,  to  a  certain  extent,  a  guide  to  the  Park,  as  well 
as  a  series  of  descriptions  of  it. 

It  is  necessary  here  to  amend  the  sketch  of  the  history  of 
the  Park,  by  adding  one  interesting  fact,  which  was  not  at 
hand  until  after  the  wmrk  had  gone  to  press.  This  is,  that  the 
merit  of  first  suggesting  this  great  public  work,  instead  of 
being  of  doubtful  ownership,  belongs  to  the  thoughtful  and 
musical  Poet,  the  practical,  clear-headed,  and  strong-minded 
Editor,  and  fearless  and  thorough-going  friend  of  humanity 
and  freedom,  William  Cullen  Bryant.  In  a  letter  from  Eng¬ 
land  to  The  Evening  Post ,  dated  June  24,  1845,  Mr.  Bryant, 
citing  the  example  of  the  London  Parks,  urged  forcibly  the 
establishment  of  “  a  range  of  parks  and  public  gardens  along 
the  central  part  of  the  island  or  elsewhere f  and  afterwards 
repeatedly  discussed  and  advocated  the  project  in  the  Post. 

The  vignette  on  the  title-page  shows  the  Music  Pavilion,  as 
seen  through  one  of  the  stately  portals  between  the  Drive  and 
the  Mall.  Thus  viewed,  the  unbarred  gateway  and  pleasant 
scene  within  seem  to  say,  “  Enter and  may  properly  stand 
upon  our  title-page,  since  no  outer  gateway  yet  exists  to  be 
pictured. 

The  frontispiece  is  a  prophecy.  It  is  a  photograph  from 
an  engraving  on  stone  of  the  Terrace  and  the  Mall,  somewhat 
as  they  are  to  look  in  time  to  come — with  fountain,  statuary, 
and  adornments  complete,  and  the  shadowy  leafage  of  the  trees 
canopying  the  Mall. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 


Dedication . 3 

Preface  .  5 

Contents  .  7 

Historical  Sketch . 9 


DESCRIPTION'S  OF  VIEWS. 


PAGE 

PAGE 

1.  Summer  House 

.  28 

27. 

Arch  in  Ramble 

55 

2.  Granite  Archway 

.  29 

28. 

Oak  Bridge  .... 

.  56 

3.  Ledge  at  Play  Ground 

.  30 

29. 

Same,  perspective 

.  56 

4.  Arbor . 

.  31 

30. 

Rustic  Bridge,  west  of  Lake 

.  57 

5.  Tricolored  Archway . 

.  32 

31. 

Rustic  Boat  Landing 

.  58 

6.  Marble  Arch  and  Alcove  . 

.  33 

32. 

Bow  Bridge  .... 

.  59 

7.  Marble  Arch,  outward 

.  34 

33. 

Same,  perspective 

.  60 

8.  MaU  .• . 

.  35 

34. 

Hook,  in  Ramble 

.  61 

9.  Music  Pavilion  .... 

.  36 

35. 

Steps,  in  Ramble 

.  62 

10.  Vultures’  Banquet  . 

.  38 

36. 

Bell  Frame,  Vista  Rock  . 

.  63 

11.  Vine-covered  Walk 

.  38 

37. 

The  Reservoirs .... 

.  64 

12.  Same,  within  .... 

.  39 

38. 

Tunnel  under  Vista  Rock  . 

.  65 

13.  Portals  of  the  Mall  . 

.  40 

39. 

Archway,  west  of  old  Reservoir 

.  66 

14.  Terrace. — Inner  Stairway . 

.  42 

40. 

Archway,  north  of  Meadows  . 

.  67 

15.  Terrace. — Balustrade  Post 

.  42 

41. 

Same,  view  from  beneath  . 

.  68 

16.  Terrace. — Grand  Stairways 

.  44 

42. 

Cascade  near  same  . 

.  69 

17.  Gondola . 

.  45 

43. 

Pointed  Archway 

.  70 

18.  Cascade,  north  of  Terrace 

.  46 

44. 

Archway,  east  of  old  Reservoir 

.  71 

19.  Shaded  Seat  in  Ramble  . 

.  46 

45. 

The  Boy  and  the  Swan 

.  72 

20.  Walk  in  Ramble 

.  48 

46 

Summer  House,  north  of  Arsenal 

.  73 

21.  Shaded  Seat  in  Ramble  . 

.  48 

47. 

Old  Arsenal  .... 

.  74 

22.  Arbor  in  Ramble 

.  50 

48. 

Oval  Bridge  .... 

.  75 

23.  Rustic  Bridge  in  Ramble  . 

.  50 

49. 

Flying  Bridge  .... 

.  76 

24.  Same,  with  Drip  Rock 

.  51 

50. 

Archway,  s.  w.  of  Play  Ground 

.  77 

25.  Bust  of  Schiller 

.  52 

51. 

Vignette  (see  Preface). 

26.  The  Cave . 

.  54 

52. 

Frontispiece  (see  Preface). 

THE  CENTRAL  PARK. 


Reader,  suppose  yourself  standing  with  me  on  the  front 
steps  of  the  Astor  House.  It  is  a  four  miles’  ride  hence  to  the 
Central  Park.  We  may  reach  its  southern  central  entrance  by 
the  Sixth  Avenue  cars,  which  start  from  the  south  side  of  this 
hotel.  Or  the  Eighth  Avenue  cars,  the  red  ones  which  set 
out  from  the  same  place,  will  carry  us  to  the  south-western 
corner  of  the  Park,  or  to  a  side  entrance  at  Seventy-second 
Street.  Or  again,  the  Third  Avenue  cars,  whose  red  sides  glow 
over  there  across  the  street,  will  set  us  down  two  blocks  from 
the  eastern  side,  at  Seventy-second  Street,  opposite  the  heart  of 
the  Park — the  Mall  and  the  Terrace.  Come ;  we  will  go  by 
the  Sixth  Avenue.  It  is  a  long  ride.  Let  us  beguile  the  way 
by  a  bird’s  eye  view  of  the  past  history  of  the  Park ;  a  bird’s 
“  mind’s  eye,  Horatio,”  if  so  we  may  say. 


Ox  the  5th  of  April,  1851,  when  Mayor  Kingsland  sent  in 
to  the  Aldermen  a  special  message  urging  the  necessity  of  a 
spacious  public  park  for  the  great  city,  much  interest  had 
already  for  some  time  been  felt  and  expressed  in  favor  of  some 


10 


Central  Park. 


such  plan.  In  consequence  of  the  Mayor’s  message,  the  city, 
in  the  proper  form,  asked  the  State  for  leave  to  make  a  park 
out  of  Jones’s  Wood;  a  tract  of  land  of  about  one  hundred 
and  fifty  acres,  on  the  East  River,  between  Sixty-fourth  and 
Seventy-fifth  Streets. 

Leave  was  given,  but  the  attempt  to  place  the  Park  in  so 
distant  a  corner  quickly  began  to  be  unpopular,  and  an  active 
opposition  arose  in  favor  of  a  more  central  place.  A.  J.  Down¬ 
ing,  between  whom  and  the  poet  Bryant  lies  the  credit  of 
having  been  first  to  suggest  the  Central  Park,  urged  forcibly, 
in  his  magazine,  the  Horticulturist ,  for  August,  1851,  the 
establishment  of  a  park  of  at  least  five  hundred  acres,  some¬ 
where  “  between  Thirty-ninth  Street  and  the  Harlem  River,” 
describing,  as  attainable  in  such  a  place,  many  of  the  ad¬ 
vantages  and  attractions  since  actually  introduced  into  the 
Park. 

On  the  5th  of  the  same  August,  1851,  the  Aldermen,  obey¬ 
ing  public  sentiment,  appointed  a  committee  to  look  for  a 
better  situation  for  the  Park ;  for  it  was  now  a  settled  thing 
that  some  park  was  to  be  had.  That  committee  reported  ably 
and  at  length  in  favor  of  the  present  site ;  and,  on  petition, 
the  State  once  more  gave  the  city  leave  to  take  the  ground 
desired. 

A  pretty  obstinate  contest  now  followed  with  the  partisans 
of  the  Jones’s  Wood  scheme,  and  the  majority  of  one  legislative 
committee,  in  June,  1853,  made  a  report  strongly  leaning  in 
favor  of  the  Jones’s  Wood  plan.  Hon.  James  E.  Cooley,  how¬ 
ever,  presented  a  cogent  argument,  in  a  minority  report,  for 
the  Central  Park.  Two  years  later,  in  March,  1855,  an  ordi- 


Historical  Sketch. 


11 


nance,  cutting  off  nearly  all  the  southern  half  of  the  Park, 
passed  both  branches  of  the  Common  Council,  and  was  only 
stopped  by  Mayor  Wood’s  veto.  This  measure  would  have 
effectually  crippled  the  design. 

All  this  opposition,  however,  did  no  more  than  to  retard  the 
enterprise.  The  Jones’s  Wood  bill  was  repealed  in  April,  1854 ; 
and  at  last,  after  six  years  of  legislation  and  management  for 
and  against,  a  Board  of  Commissioners  of  the  Central  Park, 
consisting  of  Mayor  Wood  and  Street  Commissioner  Taylor, 
was  appointed  by  a  city  ordinance,  approved  May  21,  1856. 
These  gentlemen  very  sensibly  invited  seven  most  competent 
persons  to  act  in  consultation  with  them.  These  were,  Wash¬ 
ington  Irving,  who  was  made  President  of  the  Board,  George 
Bancroft,  James  E.  Cooley,  who  had  already  fought  so  good  a 
battle  for  the  Park  in  the  Legislature  and  elsewhere,  Charles  F. 
Briggs,  James  Phalen,  Charles  A.  Dana,  and  Stewart  Brown. 
This  Board  had,  however,  no  money  of  consequence  in  its 
hands,  and  did  but  little  except  consult  and  procure  some  pre¬ 
liminary  surveys.  In  April,  1857,  the  Board  was  reorganized 
by  the  Legislature,  substantially  on  its  present  footing,  and 
proper  funds  provided. 

In  the  beginning  of  1858,  the  Board  offered  four  premiums 
of  two  thousand  dollars,  one  thousand  dollars,  seven  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars,  and  five  hundred  dollars,  respectively,  for  the 
first,  second,  third,  and  fourth  best  plans  for  laying  out  the  Park. 
That  presented  by  Frederic  Law  Olmsted  and  Calvert  Yaux, 
was  accepted  nearly  as  offered,  on  May  18,  1858;  Mr. 
Olmsted  was  appointed  architect-in-chief,  and  Mr.  Yaux  con¬ 
sulting  architect.  A  working  force  was  at  once  organized,  and 


12 


Central  Park. 


about  June  1,  1858,  the  proper  work  of  laying  out  the  Park 
was  commenced. 

Mr.  Olmsted  is  a  native  of  Hartford,  Conn.,  and  has  made 
himself  two  enviable  reputations:  one  as  an  observer  and 
thinker,  chiefly  by  his  very  valuable  and  interesting  works  of 
travel  and  statistics  on  the  Slave  States ;  and  one  as  an  organ¬ 
izer  and  administrator,  by  his  much  more  remarkable  skill  and 
success  in  designing  and  directing  the  work  of  the  Park,  and, 
subsequently,  in  conducting  the  vast  operations  of  the  Sani¬ 
tary  Commission.  Mr.  Vaux  is  a  gentleman  of  English  birth, 
an  architect  of  established  reputation  in  New  York.  Messrs. 
Olmsted  and  Vaux  remained  in  their  posts — the  former,  how¬ 
ever,  only  nominally,  after  becoming  Secretary  of  the  Sanitary 
Commission — until  the  year  1863. 


Six  years  ago,  when  Messrs.  Olmsted  and  Vaux  took  charge 
of  the  Park,  their  prospect  was  singularly  unpromising. 
When  they  escorted  friends  of  taste  and  culture  to  one  and 
another  point  of  view,  and  described  what  they  intended  to 
have  in  so  many  years,  in  one  place  and  another,  they  were 
heard  with  politeness,  but,  so  utterly  hopeless  did  the  place 
appear,  with  pretty  thorough  incredulity.  Nor  is  this  sur¬ 
prising.  A  forbidding  and  sterile  tract  of  rugged  gneiss  rock, 
one  of  the  intractable  primary  formations,' occupied  much  of 
the  area  of  the  Park.  Its  tough  ledges  stood  out  in  the 
weather,  bald,  useless,  and  unsightly,  or  were  barely  covered 
by  a  thin  and  dry  layer  of  earth,  sparsely  sprinkled  with  grass 


Histokical  Sketch. 


13 

and  weeds.  In  its  nndrained  hollows  stood  stagnant  pools,  or 
cold  swamps  and  bogs.  A  few  trees  grew  here  and  there,  and 
swamp  bushes  tufted  its  nooks.  The  built-up  portion  of  the 
city  did  not  reach  so  far,  and  this  peculiarly  dreary  region  was 
one  of  its  most  unlovely  suburbs.  In  various  portions  of  its 
savage  territory,  tribes  of  squalid  city  barbarians  had  en¬ 
camped,  and,  in  dirty  shanties  or  in  the  open  air,  drove  the 
fetid  business  of  bone-boiling — “  dreadful  trade nourished 
herds  of  measly  swine  upon  the  sickish  feculence  of  distilleries, 
or  murdered  rapid  successions  of  wretched  “  stump-tail”  cows, 
who  dissolved  bodily  into  mere  rottenness  on  the  same 
nauseous  food,  as  they  stood  in  the  stalls,  poisoning  the  city 
infants  with  their  infectious  milk  as  they  died.  Cinder-sifters, 
rag-pickers,  and  swill-men  constituted  its  more  cleanly  or  aris¬ 
tocratic  classes,  unless  now  and  then  some  thief  or  bolder  crim¬ 
inal  glorified  its  huts  or  holes  with  a  more  famous  presence.  It 
was  a  miserable  realm  of  barrenness,  stench,  filth,  poverty, 
lawlessness,  and  crime. 

Such  was  much  of  the  southern  portion  of  the  Park  terri¬ 
tory.  Further  north  the  rock  is  limestone,  and  the  surface 
less  sterile.  Two  or  three  decent  houses  stood  within  the  Park 
limits,  including  the  Catholic  Convent  of  Mount  St.  Vincent. 
In  some  portions  of  the  whole  area,  a  few  acres  of  poorish  pas¬ 
turage  or  of  tillable  land  were  here  and  there  found. 

Since  June,  1857,  the  progress  of  the  Park  has  been  one  of 
uninterrupted  success,  scarcely  rippled  now  and  then  by  at¬ 
tempts  to  force  the  enterprise  into  the  same  disreputable 
political  relations  which  control  nearly  all  the  other  public 
works  of  the  city,  or  to  break  up  the  organization  of  its  indus- 


14 


Central  Park. 


trial  army,  for  the  sake  of  gratifying  some  personal  enmity. 
The  most  important  of  these  attempts  was  that  made  by  Mr. 
James  Hogg,  an  ex-commissioner,  Robert  J.  Dillon,  and  F.  A. 
Conkling.  A  committee  of  the  State  Senate  was  appointed,  in 
1861,  to  investigate  the  affairs  of  the  Park,  which  heard 
patiently  all  the  charges  made  by  these  gentlemen,  and  ex¬ 
amined  diligently  into  both  the  financial  and  artistic  aspects 
of  the  enterprise.  The  result  was  a  most  triumphant  vindica¬ 
tion  of  the  entire  honesty  and  eminent  ability  and  success  of 
the  work.  The  charges  brought  were  altogether  frivolous. 


It  would  be  interesting  to  trace  down  the  progress  of  the 
work  on  the  Park,  year  by  year,  but  the  story,  though  very 
valuable,  would  be  too  long.  All  that  can  be  done  is  to 
attempt  a  brief  statement  of  some  of  the  leading  points  and 
purposes  of  its  design. 

The  Park  is  a  parallelogram  five  times  as  long  as  it  is  wide, 
nearly  in  the  centre  of  the  island  of  New  York.  It  extends 
half  a  mile  across,  from  Fifth  to  Eighth  Avenues,  and  two  and 
a  half  miles  lengthwise,  from  Fifty-ninth  Street  to  One  Hun¬ 
dred  and  Sixth  Street. 

Besides  the  natural  difficulties  of  the  ground,  which  we  have 
mentioned,  there  were  two  other  principal  ones.  The  first  was 
the  cutting  in  two  of  the  Park  by  the  old  and  new  Receiving 
Reservoirs  of  the  Croton  Water-works,  the  latter  a  vast  sheet  of 
one  hundred  and  six  acres  in  extent,  and  capable  of  containing 
the  whole  monstrous  navy  of  the  United  States.  These  great 


Historical  Sketch. 


15 


bodies  of  water  served  as  a  wall,  halving  the  possibilities  of 
grand  views  and  imposing  landscape  ;  and  making  it  necessary 
to  lay  out  two  parks,  connected  by  narrow  belts  of  land  each 
side  of  the  Reservoirs. 

The  second  difficulty  was  the  absolute  necessity  of  permitting 
free  passage  for  traffic  across  the  two  and  a  half  miles  in  length 
of  the  Park  area.  To  close  this  would  unendurably  separate 
the  future  business  of  the  city,  which  must  one  day  be  enormous, 
across  between  the  East  and  the  North  Rivers.  And  to  admit 
it,  seemed  necessarily  to  profane  the  quiet  elegance  of  the  Park, 
by  the  noise,  and  dirt,  and  homely  features  of  trade,  labor,  and 
commerce. 

The  former  of  these  difficulties  was  met  by  accepting  it, 
making  the  Upper  Park  a  scene  of  wide  and  open  glades,  mea¬ 
dows,  hills,  and  valleys ;  in  short,  a  well-kept  woodland  ;  while 
the  Lower  Park  was  much  more  elaborately  treated,  somewhat 
in  garden  style,  and  its  features  and  capacities  so  managed  as 
to  leave  the  visitor  under  a  grateful  delusion.  Unless  of  re¬ 
markably  well-trained  eye,  the  lower  Park  appeal's  far  larger 
than  it  really  is,  even  in  its  present  imperfect  state  ;  and  it  is 
very  easy  to  lose  all  perception  of  points  of  compass,  and  thus  to 
wander  at  will  with  almost  such  a  sense  of  vastness,  as  that 
which  we  feel  in  the  wild  woods  themsleves.  In  the  middle 
of  it  is  the  heart  of  the  Park,  the  long  avenue  of  elms  called 
the  Mall,  with  the  Music  Pavilion  in  its  upper  or  northern 
end,  and  terminated  by  the  rich  and  highly  finished  Terrace. 
This  consists  of  a  bridge,  with  elaborate  architectural  and  sculp¬ 
tured  decorations,  carrying  the  main  drive  across  the  head  of 
the  Mall ;  while  stairs,  from  its  further  side  and  below  it,  lead  to 


16 


Central  Park. 


the  ornamented  area  of  the  great  Fountain,  and  to  the  Lake, 
where  the  swans  play  and  the  boats  are  riding. 

This  is  the  Heart  of  the  Park;  its  richest  and  most  elaborate 
scene.  It  was  judged  that,  for  this  great  democratic  pleasure 
ground,  such  a  scene,  open  to  the  sky,  was  far  more  appropri¬ 
ate  than  the  close  exclusiveness  of  a  house.  In  this  place 
would  have  been  put  the  mansion  of  the  gentleman  or  the 
castle  of  the  baron,  had  such  owned  the  Park.  It  is  the  Demo¬ 
cratic  Palace.  Around  it  lie,  in  different  directions,  the  Ball 
Ground,  the  Parade,  the  Collection  of  Animals,  and  the  Skating 
Pond ;  while,  on  the  further  shore  of  the  Lake,  the  bold,  rough, 
rocky  slope  called  the  Ramble  has  been  laid  out  in  sinuous 
and  complicated  walks,  and  thickly  planted  with  shrubbery 
and  flowers,  to  form  a  proper  foreground  for  the  view  north¬ 
ward  from  the  Mall,  a  pleasant  loitering  ground,  and  an  ex¬ 
ample  of  good  garden  management.  Around  the  borders  of  the 
Lower  Park  the  planting  has  been  so  disposed,  that,  in  course 
of  time,  a  belt  of  foliage  will  shut  out  the  brick  and  mortar  of 
the  surrounding  city ;  and  such  buildings  as  were  needed  have 
been  mostly  kept  back  along  the  same  belt,  thus  avoiding  to 
break  up  the  open  spaces  of  the  interior. 

The  other  difficulty,  of  accommodating  the  transverse  city 
traffic  and  passengers,  was  met  in  a  manner  singularly  ingenious. 
The  transverse  roads,  four  in  number,  were  sunk,  and  carried 
across  the  Park  at  such  a  depth  as  to  conceal  all  that  passed. 
At  the  sides  of  these  roads,  and  at  the  bridges  over  them, 
fringes  of  trees  and  shrubs  aid  the  disposition  of  the  ground  in 
this  concealment,  so  that  the  world  of  toil  is  effectually  pre¬ 
vented  from  thrusting  its  skeleton  into  the  aesthetic  feast  of  the 


Historical  Sketch. 


17 


guests  in  the  Park.  So  simply  and  plainly  did  this  device  meet 
the  case,  that  it  had  much  weight  in  deciding  the  Board  of 
Commissioners  to  adopt  the  plan  which  contained  it. 

These  four  roads,  of  course,  shredded  the  Park  into  five 
segments,  even  more  cleanly  than  the  Reservoirs  did  into  two. 
This,  however,  only  enabled  the  architects  to  show  another 
proof  of  sense  and  skill.  Their  plan  was  boldly  carried  out, 
without  suffering  these  chasms  to  break  up  any  of  its  import¬ 
ant  features  ;  and  numerous  bridges,  of  proper  size  and  design, 
all  having  the  same  sedulous  protection  against  any  glimpse 
into  the  arid  world  of  business,  carried  the  roads  and  paths 
whither  they  were  to  go. 

I  have  thus  rapidly  described  the  course  of  legislation  which 
secured  the  site  of  the  Park,  the  raw  and  forbidding  features  of 
that  site  when  chosen,  a  few  among  the  difficulties  encountered 
in  planning  it,  the  way  in  which  they  were  met,  and  some  few 
of  the  characteristics  of  its  design.  Even  in  its  present  half- 
finished  condition,  it  is  quite  practicable  to  describe  and  esti¬ 
mate  the  Park  as  a  result ;  for  its  main  features  have  been 
fixed  according  to  the  original  plan,  and  the  completion  of  the 
work  will,  of  course,  only  add  to  their  full  development. 


The  Central  Park  is  the  eighth  in  size  of  the  great  public 
pleasure-grounds  of  the  world.  The  seven  larger  ones  are — the 
Prater  at  Vienna,  Phoenix  Park  at  Dublin,  Plampton  Court  and 
Bushy  Parks  (together)  near  London,  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  at 

Paris,  Richmond  Park  near  London,  the  Gardens  at  Versailles, 
3 


18 


Central  Park. 


and  Windsor  Great  Park ;  whose  dimensions  are  successively 
from  the  one  thousand  five  hundred  acres  of  the  Prater,  up  to 
the  three  thousand  five  hundred  of  the  Great  Park  at  Windsor. 

The  Park  is  multiform.  Few  things  can  be  estimated  in  so 
many  different  senses ;  because  very  few  human  undertakings 
aim  to  accomplish  so  many  different  results. 

Thus : 

Dynamically, — as  a  job  of  work, — as  the  foremen’s  returns 
would  sum  it, — as  Mr.  George  Law  might  see  it, — the  Park 
was,  on  January  1,  1863,  the  latest  day  of  published  returns, 
the  result  of  about  one  million  and  a  quarter  days’  works. 
These  days’  works,  not  reckoning  a  variety  of  smaller  items, 
have  excavated  and  carted  two  and  a  half  millions  of  cubic 
yards  of  earth  and  stone ;  excavated  three  hundred  and  four 
thousand  cubic  yards  of  rock,  by  blowing  it  out  with  one  hun¬ 
dred  and  sixty-six  tons  of  powder ;  built  about  eighty-seven 
thousand  cubic  yards  of  masonry ;  laid  nearly  four  hundred 
thousand  feet  of  sewers  and  drains,  and  nearly  eighty  thou¬ 
sand  feet  of  water-pipes ;  laid  more  than  six  million  brick  ;  and 
set  out  more  than  one  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  trees  and 
shrubs.  This  is  work  and  material  enough  to  build  quite  a  city. 

Financially, — as  an  investment  of  capital, — as  the  treas¬ 
urer’s  report  might  sum  it, — as  the  Stock  Exchange  might  view 
it, — the  Park  now  represents  an  expenditure  of  more  than  seven 
millions  of  dollars.  This,  too,  is  thus  invested  by  a  nation  the 
most  sharply  practical  in  the  world,  and  charged  with  being 
the  most  pecuniary  in  aim  and  motive  ;  and  for  objects  all  of 
which  are  wise,  and  either  essentially  benevolent  or  essentially 
aesthetic. 


Historical  Sketch. 


19 


But  against  this  debit  of  seven  million  dollars  may  be 
set  a  sum  of  twenty-two  and  a  half  millions  of  dollars,  being 
the  increased  value,  since  1856,  of  the  real  estate  in  the  three 
wards  surrounding  the  Park,  and  of  which  a  considerable 
part  is  due  to  the  influence  of  the  Park.  The  tax  received  by 
the  city  on  this  increase  is  three  hundred  and  eighty  thousand 
three  hundred  and  forty-eight  dollars  and  twenty-four  cents, 
which  lacks  only  fifty-eight  thousand  and  four  dollars  and 
thirty-two  cents  of  paying  the  whole  interest  on  the  Park  stock 
(at  six  per  cent.,  however).  But  this  shows  that  the  Park  is, 
in  fact,  a  wonderfully  cheap  luxury.  It  costs  each  soul  in  New 
York,  by  these  figures,  at  present,  about  the  quotient  of  fifty- 
eight  thousand  dollars  divided  by  seven  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand,  a  low  estimate  for  the  population  of  the  city ;  that 
is,  a  little  more  than  seven  cents  a  year. 

Topographically, — as  a  map, — as  Mr.  Disturnell  or  Mr.  Wool- 
worth  Colton  might  estimate  it, — it  occupies,  including  up  to 
One  Hundred  and  Tenth  Street,  eight  hundred  and  forty-three 
acres  and  a  fraction,  lying  in  a  parallelogram  half  a  mile  wide, 
and  two  and  a  half  long.  Of  this  space,  the  new  Reservoir  oc¬ 
cupies  one  hundred  and  six  acres,  and  the  old  one  thirty-five ; 
the  Lake  at  the  Mall  twenty  acres,  and  three  other  smaller 
bodies  of  water  about  nine  acres  more.  Three  systems  of  vrays 
for  travel,  besides  the  transverse  roads,  conduct  visitors  around 
the  Park;  a  carriage  drive,  a  bridle-road,  and  footpaths. 
Archways  carry  the  bridle-road  under  or  over  the  drive,  and  the 
footpath  under  or  over  both  the  others,  when  they  are  to  be 
crossed ;  so  that,  by  merely  keeping  in  the  footpath,  children, 
invalids,  and  feeble  folk  are  in  no  danger  of  being  run  over. 


20 


Central  Park. 


There  are  now  opened  about  eight  miles  of  drive,  four  and  a 
half  miles  of  bridle-road,  and  eighteen  and  a  half  miles  of  foot¬ 
path.  The  Mall  and  Terrace  are  a  little  to  the  right  of  the  mid¬ 
dle  of  the  Lower  Park,  as  you  look  northward.  Behind  it, 
down  at  the  southeast  corner,  is  the  Skating  Pond,  and  off  at  the 
right  of  the  north  end  of  the  latter  is  the  Arsenal.  Over  to  the 
west,  the  Ball  Ground  and  the  Parade,  the  largest  spaces  in  the 
lower  end  of  the  Park,  stretch  up  to  a  point  abreast  of  the  Mall. 
From  the  north  end  of  the  Mall  you  go  down  through  the  grand 
staircase,  under  the  bridge,  to  the  great  Fountain,  and  pass  on 
to  the  Lake,  on  whose  waters  float  eleven  boats  and  a  gondola. 
Over  the  water,  the  wild  and  shrubby  Ramble  lies  before  you 
on  the  rough  hillside,  and  the  view  is  closed  by  the  wooden 
bell-frame  now  standing  on  Vista  Rock,  at  the  southwest 
corner  of  the  Old  Reservoir ;  but  which  structure  is  to  be  re¬ 
placed  by  an  ornamental  one.  Among  the  trees,  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  Mall,  is  the  Music  Pavilion ;  at  your  right  hand, 
looking  north,  the  vine-covered  walk  stretches  along  the  rocks 
that  skirt  the  Mall ;  and,  near  by,  the  solid  Casino  crowns 
another  part  of  the  same  ledge.  Still  further  back,  and  to  the 
right,  is  the  Zoological  Collection,  within  a  delicate  but  suffi¬ 
cient  wire  fence.  Over  towards  Fifth  Avenue,  and  north¬ 
east  from  your  position  at  the  head  of  the  Mall,  hidden  by  the 
ledge  on  which  stand  the  Vine  Walk  and  the  Casino,  are  con¬ 
structing  the  Flower  Garden  and  the  Conservatory.  And  these 
are  the  chief  artificial  features  of  the  map.  Its  natural  features 
are,  in  the  Upper  Park,  broad,  grand  slopes  and  vales,  of  clear  and 
impressive  form,  which  are  not  to  be  interfered  with  by  the 
work  of  the  Park,  but  enhanced  rather.  Those  of  the  Lower 


Historical  Sketch. 


21 


Park  are  somewhat  more  subdivided,  as  if  to  afford  sites  for 
the  more  varied  and  detailed  works  executed  there.  A  rugged 
hill-side,  part  of  which  is  occupied  by  the  Ramble,  stretches 
across  the  Park,  below  the  old  Reservoir  ;  a  table-laud  occupies 
most  of  the  central  and  western  part  of  the  space  below,  while 
the  eastern  part  is  undulating ;  and  a  belt  of  more  rugged  and 
rocky  ground  runs  across  the  south  end  of  the  Park.  The 
highest  natural  ground  in  the  Park  is  Summit  Rock,  west  of 
the  old  Reservoir,  one  hundred  and  thirty-six  feet  above  tide  ; 
but  part  of  Vista  Rock,  over  the  tunnel,  at  the  southwest 
corner  of  the  old  Reservoir,  has  been  raised  six  feet  higher. 
The  lowest  point  is  at  One  Hundred  and  Seventh  Street,  near 
Fifth  Avenue,  and  is  just  two-tenths  of  a  foot,  or  two  and  one- 
thirtieth  inches,  below  tide. 

Administratively, — as  a  specimen  of  governmental  and  ex¬ 
ecutive  organization, — -as  Mr.  Corning  of  the  Central  Railroad, 
or  Mr.  Marsh  of  the  Erie,  might  consider  it, — it  consists  of  a 
Board  of  Consulting  and  Directing  Commissioners,  a  single 
Executive  Officer,  and  two  separate  forces  under  him ;  the 
working  force  and  the  police  force. 

The  working  force  was,  during  the  heaviest  part  of  the 
labor,  at  an  average,  three  thousand  men,  and  has  been  as  high 
as  three  thousand  six  hundred.  During  1862,  it  was  one 
thousand  two  hundred  and  seven.  This  force  is  worked  in 
gangs  of  from  twenty  to  fifty  men,  each  gang  under  a  foreman  ; 
from  six  to  ten  gangs  are  formed  into  a  “  division,”  under  a 
“  general  foreman and  the  superintendent  of  the  works  (now 
Superintending  Engineer  Grant)  has  immediate  charge  and 
authority  over  the  whole.  A  wise  code  of  regulations  was 


Central  Park. 


prepared  by  Mr.  Olmsted  for  the  government  of  this  force, 
and  is  still  in  use. 

The  police  force  consists  of  about  fifty  officers,  selected  for 
good  personal  appearance,  good  manners,  and  good  judgment. 
They  pervade  the  Park ;  keeping  the  gates  and  patrolling  the 
walks  and  rides.  Their  uniform  is  much  like  that  of  the 
Metropolitan  Police,  but  is  of  gray,  instead  of  blue.  They  are 
civil,  accommodating,  and  efficient.  Out  of  the  whole  number 
of  four  million  one  hundred  and  ninety-five  thousand  six  hun¬ 
dred  and  ninety-five  visits  to  the  Park  during  1862,  only  one 
hundred  and  thirty-five  resulted  in  conduct  requiring  arrest, 
of  which  one  hundred  and  three  were  for  driving  too  fast ;  a 
misdemeanor  which  is  found  to  be  rife  on  afternoons  and 
holidays.  This  force,  like  the  working  force,  is  under  the 
orders  of  the  executive  officer  of  the  Board. 

Hygienically,— as  an  intelligent  physician  of  reformatory 
tendencies  might  look  at  it, — Dr.  Griscom,  of  New  York,  for 
instance, — it  is  an  inestimable  spiracle  or  lung  for  the  carbon¬ 
izing  and  ill-aerated  city.  Here  the  sallow  business  man  or 
sallow  beauty  may  come,  and,  perchance,  pick  up  again  a  few 
leaves  of  their  wasted  roses.  The  fresh  air,  that  smells  of  field 
and  woodland ;  the  quiet  of  some  solitary  nook,  or  the  festive 
atmosphere  of  any  denser  crowd ;  the  decorative  architecture, 
the  pleasure-boats,  the  incapacity  of  non-enjoyment  which 
belongs  to  the  plan  and  execution  of  all  and  every  part  of  the 
Park — all  these  influences  have  a  strangely  powerful  force. 
They  compel  the  soul.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  do  any 
thing  in  the  Park  but  rest,  breathe  sweet  air,  and  enjoy.  It 
is  a  kind  of  resurrection ;  in  this  fair,  new  world,  we  remem- 


Historical  Sketch. 


23 


ber  dimly  those  invoices,  newspapers,  writs,  and  other  bond¬ 
ages,  but  they  are  only  remembrances ;  they  have  nothing  to 
do  with  this  pleasant  place ;  perhaps  they  do  not,  in  fact, 
really  exist !  Nothing  short  of  the  tinkle  of  the  car-bells,  or 
the  joggle  of  the  city  pavement,  drags  us  back  out  of  our 
vision,  and  thrusts  us  down  again  into  the  malodorous  drudg- 
ing  city.  Doubtless,  the  Park  is  lengthening  the  average  life 
of  the  citizens. 

To  show  how  extensively  the  influence  of  the  Park  is 
spreading,  I  may  repeat  the  total  I  named  a  few  moments  ago, 
of  the  number  of  visits  to  the  Park  during  1862 ;  it  is  four 
million  one  hundred  and  ninety-five  thousand  six  hundred 
and  ninety-five.  “  Persons1,1  is  the  term  used  in  the  Park 
reports ;  but  many  people  go  there  habitually  or  frequently, 
though  not  enough  to  make  the  whole  number  of  visitors 
small.  Over  twenty-five  thousand  of  these  visits  included 
boating  on  the  Lake;  a  very  large,  but  unrecorded,  number 
were  for  skating ;  more  than  four  hundred  thousand  were  on 
the  twenty-one  “  music  days.” 

iEsthetically,— -as  a  poet  or  an  artist  might  imagine  it,  Mr. 
Inness  or  Mr.  Bryant,  for  instance : — many  beautiful  things,  pure 
air,  landscape  views,  whole  chapters  of  spirited  studies  in  decora¬ 
tive  art,  flower-gardens,  and  the  collected  shrubs  and  trees  of  this 
region  and  of  others  too ;  the  subtler  pleasures  of  music ;  the 
yet  loftier  and  truer  delight  of  seeing  happy  multitudes ;  the 
consciousness  of  belonging  to  a  nation  capable  of  desiring, 
creating,  and  enjoying  so  much  beauty — all  these  fill  the  Park 
with  the  elements  of  beauty,  with  things  and  thoughts  proper 
to  stir  into  activity  the  best  powers  of  artist  or  of  poet. 


24 


Central  Park. 


Socially, — as  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  the  friend  of  all  good 
amusements  and  enjoyments,  might  like  to  view  it, — the  Park 
is  what  I  have  already  called  it — a  great  democratic  pleasure- 
ground  ;  a  proof  of  the  ease  and  the  natural  method  by  which 
a  democracy  can  create,  for  its  own  enjoyment,  gardens  as 
elaborate,  costly,  and  magnificent,  as  those  of  monarchs.  No 
visitor  needs  to  send  in  a  card  to  the  proprietor,  or  to  request 
permission  to  inspect  his  “valuable  collection.”  To  be  a 
visitor  is  to  exercise  ownership  in  it.  It  is  his  who  will  but 
enter  and  enjoy.  Only  by  staying  outside,  indeed,  can  we 
avoid  exercising  ownership  in  it.  Nor  is  there  any  distinction 
of  persons,  other  than  ethical.  Disorder  and  disgustfulness 
are  excluded;  otherwise,  the  poorest  owns  as  much  of  the  Park 
as  the  richest.  The  dirty-faced  baby  of  the  shanty  runs, 
squalls,  and  grubs  in  the  gravel  as  freely  as  the  rich  man’s 
bescrubbed  and  bedizened  infant — and  far  more  so;  and  far 
more  does  he  enjoy  it  too.  What  is  a  lace  ruffle  about  his 
drawers,  or  a  feather  in  his  hat,  or  a  fiery-red  mantle,  to  a  little 
child,  compared  with  nice  dirt,  and  freedom  to  disport  himself 
therein  ?  Truly,  less  than  nothing,  and  vanity.  Indeed,  not 
only  does  the  poor  man  have  whatever  the  rich  man  can,  in  the 
Park,  but  much  that  he  cannot.  Hundreds  of  sweet,  quiet 
nooks,  pleasant  corners  of  water  scenery,  little  shady  bowers, . 
higher  “  coignes  of  vantage,”  accurately  chosen  view-points — all 
these  must  be  walked  to.  Nature  will  be  wooed  in  humility. 
She  is  like  Elisha  of  old ;  they  that  come  with  chariots  and 
horses,  and  gold  and  raiment,  may,  perhaps,  receive  some  word 
as  by  a  messenger,  as  Naaman  did.  If  he  had  gone  humbly 
on  foot,  doubtless  Elisha  would  have  himself  spoken  with  him. 


Historical  Sketch. 


25 

Nature  will  not  be  visible  from  more  than  six  feet  high.  So 
the  Park  is  a  pleasure-ground,  because  it  was  made  to  be ;  and 
a  democratic  one,  because,  being  of  natural  rather  than  artifi¬ 
cial  features,  it  must  be.  By  silent,  constant  ministrations,  it  is 
in  sundry  ways  teaching  the  greater  social  ethics — equality  of 
privilege,  liberty  under  law,  the  greatest  good  for,  as  well  as 
of,  the  greatest  number. 

Morally, — as  perhaps  Dr.  Tyng  might  be,  with  graver 
analysis,  disposed  to  consider  it, — every  one  of  the  useful¬ 
nesses  of  the  Park  is  a  direct  promotive  of  good  morals ;  for 
good  morals  are  bettered  by  good  health,  by  innocent  enjoy¬ 
ment,  by  the  sight  and  intercourse  of  what  is  beautiful. 
Yet  still  the  most  striking  ethical  significance  of  the  Park  is 
in  this :  that  it  proves  and  expresses  great,  and  essential,  and 
foreseeing,  and  deliberate  kind-heartedness  in  our  citizens  of 
to-day,  who  provide  for  posterity  a  scene  of  recreation  and  a 
source  of  health  which  cannot,  in  the  nature  of  things,  grow 
to  a  just  completeness  until  many  of  its  originators  are  dead. 

Last  of  all — Intellectually,  in  sum  and  total,  altogether; 
as,  after  venturing  to  specify  all  those  eminent  men,  I  must  of 
necessity  attempt  to  set  forth  that  which  the  Park  is : 

It  becomes,  perhaps,  most  admirable,  when  considered  as  a 
wonderfully  symmetrical  combination  of  means,  successfully 
contrived  to  serve  many  purposes;  that  is,  as  a  great  monu¬ 
ment  of  Creative  Intellect;  both  for  conceptive  imagination, 
and  for  realizing  executive  talent.  For  foresight,  imagination, 
wisdom,  system,  complexity,  order,  and  energy,  the  history  and 
the  works  of  the  Park  are  a  very  noble  study.  Even  in  the 
original  design,  prepared  in  1858,  the  necessity  of  including 
4 


26 


Central  Park. 


the  land  up  to  One  Hundred  and  Tenth  Street,  was  under¬ 
stood  and  silently  allowed  for,  so  that  now,  when  this  space  is 
actually  to  be  added,  it  exactly  completes  the  design  of  the 
Park;  and  in  adjusting  all  its  features,  allowance  was  con¬ 
sistently  made  for  a  state  of  things  at  least  twenty  years  in 
the  future.  In  preparing  that  design,  its  makers  were  obliged 
to  body  forth  within  their  own  thoughts  the  green  meadows, 
the  masses  and  lines  of  trees  and  shrubbery,  the  bridges  and 
structures,  the  lakes  and  fountains,  sweeping  drives  and  wind¬ 
ing  pathways,  shadowing  out  all  this  beauty  over  an  actuality 
of  the  extremest  barrenness  and  filth.  So  wisely  and  sys¬ 
tematically  was  the  plan  contrived  that  it  meets  all  require¬ 
ments  of  passengers  and  commerce,  of  the  baby  in  arms,  the 
capitalist’s  coach  or  the  horseman’s  steed.  So  wisely  and 
strongly  was  the  administrative  machine  constructed,  that  its 
economy  has  been  marked  and  great,  the  work  done  with 
singular  faithfulness  and  regularity,  and  the  whole  kept  almost 
unstained  by  the  rotting  influence  of  political  interference. 

Unfinished  as  it  is,  the  Central  Park  already  links  fast  to 
the  names  of  its  two  designers,  the  high  praise  of  having 
created  by  far  the  greatest  public  work  on  the  American  con¬ 
tinent,  for  grandeur,  beauty,  purity,  and  success. 

That  Mr.  Olmsted  and  Mr.  Vaux  have  not  remained  at  the 
head  of  their  own  great  work  is  much  to  be  regretted,  how¬ 
ever  efficient  subsequent  administration  may  be.  The  origin¬ 
ating  mind  should  complete  its  own  work.  Yet  it  is  gratifying 
to  know,  that  their  plan  could  in  fact  scarcely  be  radically 
altered,  without  the  utter  overturn  and  destruction  of  the 
face  of  the  Park ;  that  their  designs  are  still  carried  forward 


Historical  Sketch. 


27 


in  good  faith,  their  methods  of  work  and  government  still 
followed,  and  their  plan  for  the  additional  ground  between 
One  Hundred  and  Sixth  and  One  Hundred  and  Tenth 
Streets  on  record,  and  approved  by  the  Commissioners. 

While,  therefore,  they  are  gone,  their  intellect  still  pre¬ 
sides  over  the  work;  and  the  experience  and  ability  of  the 
hands  into  which  the  succession  has  fallen,  are  such  as  to 
warrant  the  harmonious  completion  of  this  grand  enterprise. 


Here  we  are  at  the  Sixth  Avenue  entrance,  which  Mr. 
Vaux  would  happily  designate  the  Artist’s  Gate ;  the  best, 
because  the  bold  scenery  of  natural  rock  and  water  strikes 
with  sudden  force  and  point,  the  pilgrim  through  four  rigid 
miles  of  stiff,  dirty,  ignoble  human  street.  At  the  same  time, 
with  the  same  subtle  wisdom  of  thought  which  characterizes 
so  many  of  the  conceptions  of  the  Park,  there  is  no  absolutely 
best  walk,  best  ride,  best  drive.  As  one  of  the  original  de¬ 
signers  of  the  Park  well  remarked,  “  the  purpose  was  to  tempt 
everybody  everywhere.”  And  yet,  faithful  to  the  pure  de¬ 
mocracy  of  their  doctrines,  the  best,  most  various,  and  most 
numerous  views,  lie  along  the  paths  of  the  walkers.  It  is 
only  they  who  can  fully  gain  the  knowledge  of  the  motto  on 
our  title-page.  The  rider  must  find  in  his  exercise,  and  the 
occupants  of  carriages  in  their  vehicular  dignity,  what  compen¬ 
sation  they  may  for  the  loss  of  all  the  endless  minor  beauties 
of  the  Park,  and  many  of  its  chiefest  ones. 

Enough  of  preaching.  W e  enter ;  and  from  a  teacher  I 
subside  into  a  valet  de  place. 


28 


Central  Park. 


I.— SUMMER-HOUSE  NEAR  ARTIST’S  GATE. 

Come  up  this  winding  path  to  the  left,  to  the  Summer- 
House  on  the  Rocks,  represented  in  View  No.  1.  It  is  a  sub¬ 
stantial  and  shapely  rustic  structure,  of  thirty  or  forty  feet 
across,  consisting  of  a  hexagonal  roof  with  posts,  open  sides, 
a  flagged  floor,  and  two  ranges  of  seats  around  it  within. 
Except  the  seats  themselves,  it  is  of  cedar  with  the  bark  on. 

It  is  a  breezy  and  sightly  spot ;  the  coolest  resting-place  in 
the  Park  in  hot  summer  days.  I  have  enjoyed  many  quiet 
hours  under  its  rough  brown  roof.  Standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  floor,  we  may  look  around  upon  a  panorama.  Any  one 
who  will  be  so  unscriptural  as  to  look  back  upon  the  wicked 
city  from  which  he  has  escaped,  will  first  see  straight  before 
him  a  mob  of  rocks  and  shanties,  a  specimen  of  what  the 
Park  itself  formerly  was.  More  to  the  left  or  east,  are  the 
brick  and  freestone  masses  of  the  city,  the  yellowish-gray  pile 
of  St.  Luke’s  Hospital  standing  boldly  out  in  front.  Down 
here  to  the  southeast,  the  quiet  Skating  Pond  nestles  among 
rocks,  and  greensward,  and  growing  trees.  A  gray,  bald- 
headed  gneiss  ledge  rises  above  it  toward  its  northern  por¬ 
tion,  like  a  steady  old  guardian  protecting  a  modest  young 
lady.  Further  to  the  left  is  the  castellated  Arsenal,  and  one  of 
the  ornamental  bridges.  Beyond,  the  throng  of  carriages  moves 
with  that  singular  distant  effect  of  a  molecular  motion  both 
ways  at  once,  which  such  processions  have.  Through  this 
little  vista  to  the  north,  that  is  the  white  marble  bridge  which 


— 


Archway,  South  of  Play-Ground. 


29 


gleams  over  the  leaves,  and  the  roof  of  the  Casino  shows  be¬ 
yond  it.  Still  to  the  left  you  can  descry  obscurely  the  people 
moving  about  the  level  Mall,  and  in  the  distance  the  American 
flag  blows  out  freely  to  the  wind  from  the  temporary  bell- 
frame  on  Vista  Rock.  All  that  remains  of  the  circle  of  vision 
is  filled  up  by  the  walks  and  slopes  of  the  southwest  part  of 
the  Park,  with  a  belt  of  scattering,  cheap,  suburban  city  houses 
beyond.  Only  over  there  to  the  west,  we  can  see  glimpses  of 
the  high  and  woody  west  banks  of  the  Hudson. 

Listen  a  moment  in  the  stillness.  From  the  drive  to  the 
north  the  multitudinous  tramp  of  horses’  hoofs  comes  back  to 
us,  while  behind  us  the  tuneless  jingle  of  the  car-bells  would 
fain  entice  us  back  to  the  city.  No,  vulgar  siren  ;  you  must 
play  on  a  sweeter  instrument.  See  that  wren,  hopping  and 
picking  up  his  crumbs  within  four  feet  of  us,  over  grass  and 
gravel.  He  testifies  to  the  good  faith  with  which  visitors  obey 
the  warning,  “  Not  to  annoy  the  birds.” 


II.— ARCHWAY,  SOUTH  OF  PLAY-GROUND. 

We  retrace  our  steps  a  few  yards,  go  carefully  down  this 
sloping  sheet  of  bare  rock  to  the  footpath  below,  pass  a  few  yards 
north,  then  a  little  way  west,  and  then,  turning  sharp  round 
northward  again,  find  ourselves  before  a  granite  archway. 

The  light  beneath  the  bridge  was  not  sufficient  to  bring 
out  clearly  in  the  picture  the  finish  of  the  inside  of  the  arch ; 
but  a  suggestion  is  visible  of  the  neat  banded  brick-work  and 
the  granite  bases,  bands,  and  keystones  of  the  side  arches 
within,  and  the  range  of  stone  seats  below. 


30 


Central  Park. 


The  effect  of  this  bridge  is  produced  by  its  solid  mass, 
plain  masonry,  level  top,  flattish  arch,  and  the  quaint,  complex 
curves  in  which  the  abutment  wings  come  spreading  down  to 
their  final  posts.  Its  only  ornamental  part  (except  a  very 
spare  allowance  of  carving,  which  the  whiteness  of  the  mate¬ 
rial  and  the  shallowness  of  the  cutting  render  quite  invisible 
in  the  picture),  is  in  the  posts  and  iron  rails  of  the  balustrade 
at  the  top;  whose  simple,  decided  lines  of  brown,  with  a 
single  plain  gilt  band,  express  a  certain  very  agreeable  straight¬ 
forwardness  of  purpose  and  reserve  in  decoration. 

We  pass  on  northward,  up  the  footpath. 

III.— THE  LEDGE  AT  THE  PLAY-GROUND. 

Pause  and  look  at  the  ledge,  before  we  enter  the  arbor 
beyond.  Nothing  but  a  shapeless  mass  of  rifted  gray  rock, 
and  a  smooth,  level  grassy  meadow  before  it.  A  tame  picture, 
you  think?  Many  a  farmer  would  see  in  it  only  an  unpleasant 
reminder  of  the  primeval  encumbrance,  squatted  in  a  corner  of 
some  otherwise  perfect  mowing  lot  at  home.  Nor  is  it  vast 
enough,  perhaps,  for  sublimity.  But  this  ledge  and  meadow 
are  to  refresh  and  rest  the  eyes  of  over-worked  clerks  and  mer¬ 
chants,  sewing-women  and  school-teachers.  To  them,  the  gray 
ledge  and  green  grass  are  a  letter  from  a  dear  and  far-off  home. 
Such  rocks  and  meadows  were  about  the  rustic  birthplace  of 
many  of  these  rightful  guests  of  the  Park.  In  gazing  upon 
this  quiet  little  scene,  they  will  remember  with  deep  pleasure 
and  longing  some  old  farm-house,  some  little  rural  river,  some 
shady  tract  of  woodland,  all  the  fresh,  sweet  influences  of  the 


Arbor  Near  Play-Ground. 


31 


farm.  Nor  is  this  all.  To  the  soul  yet  living — not  deadened 
by  miseducation,  nor  crusted  over  by  vices,  nor  seared  by  the 
heats  of  money,  and  commerce,  and  ambition — there  enter  in 
rest,  and  peace,  and  new  strength,  by  only  gazing  upon  the 
silent  green  meadow,  the  immovable  gray  rock.  Fanciful 
moderns  believe  that  a  magnetism  from  old  Earth  flows  about 
her  human  children,  and  influences  them.  Perhaps  a  similar 
conception  was  unconsciously  the  root  of  the  fable  of  the  giant 
Antaeus,  the  son  of  Earth,  whose  strength  came  always  back 
to  him  when  he  touched  his  mother.  Certainly,  such  a  strength 
or  influence  does  come  up,  especially  from  reposeful  scenes  like 
this,  bathing  and  refreshing  the  soul  that  is  rightly  alive. 


IV.— ARBOR,  NEAR  PLAY-GROUND. 

The  picture,  glanced  at,  reminds  one  of  the  geometrical 
variety  of  spider-web,  with  its  radii  and  tangential  parallels 
in  roof  and  shadow.  And  do  you  observe  how  grand  its 
dimensions  and  perspective  in  the  photograph,  compared  with 
the  real  arbor  under  which  we  sit  ?  Perhaps  a  photographer’s 
camera  was  the  secret  instrumentality  of  Dame  Margaret 
Buccleugh.  Its  effect  was  not  dissimilar,  if  the  picture  of  the 
Arbor  be  any  criterion.  For,  says  the  poet,  her  process  could 
make 

“  A  nutshell  seem  a  gilded  barge, 

A  sheeling  seem  a  palace  large, 

And  youth  seem  age,  and  age  seem  youth.” 

This  is  no  very  shady  arbor  now,  truly.  But  the  wistarias 
and  other  shading  creepers  are  vigorously  climbing  all  twelve 


32 


Centeal  Paek. 


of  the  sturdy  cedar  posts;  it  will  not  be  long,  under  the 
healthy  gardening  of  the  Park,  before  a  green  roof  will  flicker 
down  coolness  and  rest  through  all  the  summery  hours,  when 
arbors  are  on  duty. 

Look  around.  The  Arsenal  peeps  in  upon  us  from  the 
east,  over  that  great  bald-headed,  blank  rock.  Then  turn 
to  the  fir-planted  hill-side  that  shows  through  the  arbor 
north  of  us ;  look  at  the  white  boulder  squatted  over  there  on 
that  gray  ledge — it  is  not  in  the  picture,  though.  Here  is 
another  boulder,  wide  off  to  our  left,  south-westward.  Others 
have  casually  seated  themselves  in  quiet  spots  further  north. 
Venerable  boulders!  You  have  come  down  to  us  from  a 
former  generation,  viz.,  from  the  Northern  Drift  Period.  Sir 
Charles  Lyell  may  think  it  much  to  have  estimated  at  blank 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  years  the  time  since  you  chartered 
icebergs,  and  came  sailing  down  to  make  your  little  personal 
observations  upon  old  and  new  New  York.  But  he  seems  not 
to  think  of  the  unimaginably  grander  conception,  what  is  the 
time,  or,  perhaps,  the  eternity,  since  you  were  created  ? 

Between  that  boulder  to  the  north,  and  this  to  thdjfight, 
we  can  look  out  upon  a  wide,  level  stretch  of  velvety  green 
grass,  unbroken  by  tree  or  rock.  This  is  the  Play- Ground. 


V.— THE  TRICOLORED  ARCHWAY. 

We  follow  along  the  footpath  still,  down  the  hollow  and 
up  the  hill,  through  the  archway,  and  here  we  perch  ourselves 
on  this  rock,  and  turn  to  view  the  arch,  looking  westward. 
It  is  straight,  severe,  and  heavy,  in  mass  and  effect,  but  this 


The  Marble  Arch  and  Alcove. 


33 


heaviness  is  much  relieved  by  the  arrangement  of  its  materials 
and  color,  which  last  the  inexorable  camera  refuses  to  ren¬ 
der.  The  broad  bands  of  the  masonry  are  of  plain  Milwaukee 
or  yellow  brick ;  the  narrow  ones  between  them  of  red  brick, 
set  so  as  to  give  a  serrated  edge  within  a  channel;  the  vous- 
soirs  and  wide  keystones  of  the  outer  arches  are  rough  ashlar 
of  gray  bluish  granite,  and  the  upper  courses  in  which  the  rail 
is  set,  and  the  bases  of  the  archway,  of  cut  granite.  And  the 
inside  of  the  arch  is  finished  in  lengthwise  bands,  much  like 
the  outside.  Observe  the  thorough  dryness  of  the  under  side 
of  the  arch,  here  as  in  the  bridge  described  before.  You  will' 
find  all  the  arches  thus  dry;  conclusive  evidence  of  skilled  and 
faithful  workmanship. 

Come ;  we  go  a  little  further  east,  turn  north,  and  down 
this  easy  slope  we  find  the  entrance  of  the  Marble  Arch. 


VI— THE  MARBLE  ARCH  AND  ALCOVE. 

Descending,  we  pass  under  the  arch.  Sit  down  here,  close 
to  the  entrance,  and  look  forward  to  the  white  apse  beyond. 
All  this  black  foreground  in  the  picture  is  cool  gray  gravel 
below,  and  cool  bluish-white  marble  on  sides  and  ceiling. 
Seemingly  the  whiteness  of  the  archway  should  have  reinforced 
the  dispersed  light  beneath  it  enough  to  bring  out  the  archi¬ 
tectural  traits.  But  it  could  not,  saith  the  camera.  Only  one 
of  the  side  arches  is  dimly  visible,  at  the  left  hand. 

A  flat  arch  is  turned  over  head,  with  pilasters  at  the  sides 
connected  by  moulded  bands  across  the  ceiling.  In  the  panels 
between  each  two  pilasters,  two  round  Saxon  arches  are  turned, 
3 


34 


Central  Park. 


on  round  pillars,  with  neat  Saxon  capitals.  Stone  benches 
beneath,  serve  as  a  base  for  both  pilasters  and  pillars. 

The  great  mass  of  white  light  beyond,  is  in  a  transverse 
space  across  the  upper  end  of  the  archway;  where,  at  either 
hand,  granite  stairs  lead  up  beyond  the  Drive,  to  its  further 
side.  That  thunderous  roll  is  the  crossing  of  carriages  over 
head;  the  archway  and  stairs  conduct  us,  feeble  foot  folk,  safely 
beyond  them.  This  shadow  of  a  railing  is  from  the  bridge- 
rail  above.  The  alcove  beyond  the  stairway  is,  like  the  arch, 
bordered  with  stone  seats ;  and  is  a  much  frequented  resting- 
place  in  summer.  The  unromantic  pump  adds  not  to  the 
aesthetics  of  the  spot,  but  we  might  haply  better  spare  a  better 
thing.  There  is  an  air  of  cosiness  about  the  low  set  curve  of 
the  arch  of  this  apse,  and  very  graceful  and  satisfying  are  the 
wheels  and  leafage  that  decorate  its  spandrels. 


VII.— THE  MARBLE  ARCH,  OUTWARD. 

Come  half  way  in  and  turn  and  look  back.  The  strong 
contrast  which  the  picture  shows  between  the  black  arch  and 
the  white  light  of  the  picture  framed  in  beyond  it,  fails  us,  you 
see,  in  the  reality.  But,  looking  in  this  direction,  the  pilasters 
and  arches  are  very  much  more  distinct  than  in  the  previous 
picture.  No  two  of  the  little  capitals  of  these  twin  arches  in 
the  panels  are  alike ;  a  pleasant  and  refreshing  variety  to  those 
brought  up  on  plaster-of-Paris  ornaments  run  in  a  mould. 

We  go  back  again  through  the  Arch,  up  the  right-hand 
stairway,  round  to  the  left,  and  here  we  stand,  looking  up  the 
length  of  the  Mall. 


The  Mall. 


35 


VIII.—1 THE  MALL. 

Take  a  seat ;  on  this  very  Park  settee,  close  in  the  fore¬ 
ground.  A  remarkably  comfortable  settee  it  is ;  such  as  should 
fill  with  confusion  inhuman  Park  Commissioners,  like  those  (for 
instance)  of  the  ambitious  city  of  Hartford,  who  have  con¬ 
ceived  in  their  imaginations  the  monstrous  non  sequitur ,  that 
because  the  Puritans  had  stout  backbones,  their  descendants 
must  have  nothing  to  lean  against  Look  about  you.  Turn¬ 
ing  round  (though  you  cannot  see  it  in  the  picture),  there  is 
St.  Luke’s  again.  Right  up  the  main  approach  it  looks,  decor¬ 
ously,  sadly,  patiently,  straight  up  the  Mall,  the  “open-air  hall 
for  dress  promenade,”  the  ball-room  and  parlor  of  the  Park,  as 
if  repeating  gravely,  “  He  that  giveth  to  the  poor,  lendeth  to 
the  Lord.” 

Is  not  this  a  glorious  stretch  of  green  in  the  middle  of  the 
great  city?  Full  twenty  acres,  including  the  Mall  and  its  im¬ 
mediate  neighborhood.  But  most  of  this  is  cut  off  by  the 
camera,  which  gives  us  in  the  picture  only  the  long  perspective 
of  the  twelve  hundred  feet  of  the  Mall,  closed  in  by  the  deco¬ 
rated  stone-work  of  the  bridge  above  the  Terrace.  The  Music 
Pavilion  is  seen  on  one  side,  and  the  Vine-covered  Walk  on  the 
height  where  the  Concourse  for  carriages  is,  at  the  other.  At 
the  hither  end  of  the  Walk  may  be  seen  a  warning:  an  unruly 
horse  standing  there  would  not  keep  his  head  still,  and  the 
unrelenting  laws  of  optics  cut  it  off. 

Let  us  walk  up  the  Mall.  As  we  approach  the  Terrace  we 
may  see  glimpses  of  the  Ramble,  through  the  gateways  of  the 


36 


Central  Park. 


Terrace  architecture.  Iu  this  broad,  open  space,  benches  are 
set  in  the  pleasant  summer  afternoons,  and  canvas  shades  are 
stretched  over  them  when  the  sunshine  is  too  hot ;  and  here 
great  audiences  listen  to  the  Saturday  afternoon  concerts,  which 
liberal  and  tasteful  citizens  pay  for,  for  the  pleasure  of  their 
fellows.  As  many  as  forty  thousand  in  one  day  have  visited 
the  Park  on  music  days.  Come  and  sit  down  here,  for  a  long 
look  at  the  Music  Pavilion. 

IX.— THE  MUSIC  PAVILION. 

“  Naow,  in  stormy  weather,  seems  as  ef  that’d  orter  be  en¬ 
closed.” 

Thus  observes  a  rustical  dame,  to  her  companion,  gazing 
upon  the  gorgeous  coloring  of  the  Pavilion.  It  does  seem 
too  beautiful  to  be  left  about  out  doors  in  this  manner.  It 
would  be  as  incongruous  among  snow-drifts  as  a  heap  of  jew¬ 
elry  and  cashmere  shawls.  I  will  not  come  to  see  it  in  the 
winter. 

It  is  really,  perhaps,  in  its  essence,  a  shed  to  shelter  a  band 
of  music.  But  beauty  is  the  utility  of  the  Park,  and  so 
elegantly  is  this  idea  elaborated  and  finished,  with  pleasant 
form  and  proportion,  rich  carving,  gilding,  and  color,  that  the 
“  shed”  is  the  most  attractive  specimen  of  decorative  work  on 
the  Park,  except  the  grander  architecture  of  the  Terrace. 

Count  up  the  tiers  of  coloring  from  the  foundation.  Next 
the  strong  green  of  the  grass  is  the  gray  stone  water  table,  or 
base  for  the  wood- work.  Then  come,  a  broad  band  of  bluish 
gray ;  narrow  line  of  olive  green ;  red-brown  moulding ;  broad 


The  Music  Pavilion. 


band  of  yellow,  with  red  and  black  ornamental  decoration  of 
pendent  leaf  forms,  seen  clearly  in  the  picture ;  narrow  black 
line  ;  narrow  red  line ;  moulding  in  sky-blue ;  gilt  line ;  ogee 
moulding  in  pea-green,  with  a  leaf  decoration  in  olive-green, 
each  leaf  having  a  little  red  heart ;  narrow  red  line  ;  sky-blue 
moulding ;  gilt  line ;  drab  band  with  red-brown  devices ;  red- 
brown  line ;  indigo-blue  moulding ;  gilt  line ;  red-brown  line  ; 
green  line ;  and  lastly,  the  ornamental  rail-work  of  leaf  designs 
and  intermediate  lotuses  outlined  strongly  in  white,  with  a 
blazing  gilt  outcry  filling  in  each  leaf ;  as  if  the  predominating 
secondary  colors  and  combinations  of  the  strata  below  were  to 
emblematize  the  successive  strains  and  modulations  of  an  over¬ 
ture  or  a  sonata,  while  that  terminal  crash  or  blaze  of  color 
stands  for  Tour  fortissimo  measures  in  the  last  cadence  of  the 
grand  finale.  The  colors  of  the  roof,  within  and  without,  are 
far  brighter,  as  they  should  be.  It  stands  on  six  round  red 
posts,  with  gilt  bands  and  gay  capitals.  Inside  are  many 
fancifully  outlined  compartments,  whose  quaint  arabesques, 
indeterminate  in  curve  and  combination,  are  proper  to  the 
obscure  expressiveness  of  music.  On  escutcheons  disposed 
among  the  gilding,  are  emblazoned  the  names  of  the  great 
masters  of  music.  The  cupola,  dark  blue,  sprinkled  with  gilt 
stars,  is  girdled  with  a  coronet  of  larger  stars  and  alternate 
trefoils,  and  one  great  gilded  star  crowns  the  tip  of  the  finial, 
rising  above  a  lyre,  the  only  common-place  device  in  the  whole 
structure.  But  let  us  not  grudge  this;  let  us  be  thankful  for 
what  the  exquisite  and  rich  Pavilion  has  not.  There  is  no 
stupid  Apollo  nor  Melpomene,  nor  any  bunch  of  fiddles  and 
trumpets  tied  together  with  a  string.  Grace  of  form,  and  har- 


38 


Central  Park. 


rnony,  and.  contrast  of  color  have,  with  perfect  feeling,  been 
made  silent,  but  effective,  handmaids  to  the  music.  Only  vul¬ 
garians  want  Apollo  and  a  painted  fiddle. 


X.— THE  VULTURES’  BANQUET. 

This  bronze  group  was  set  on  its  granite  pedestal  during 
the  summer  of  1863.  The  name  of  its  giver,  G.  W.  Burnham, 
Esq.,  is  cut  on  the  lower  panel,  that  of  the  sculptor,  Fratin, 
being  barely  visible  in  the  photograph,  below  the  head  of 
the  ibex. 

These  great  lammergeiers,  tearing  and  screaming  over  their 
bloody  banquet,  form  a  very  striking  and  effective  composition, 
and  are  well  placed  in  this  open  area  at  the  edge  of  the  Drive. 
The  fierce  birds  have  carried  their  victim  to  a  rock,  and  are 
exulting,  after  their  carnivorous  manner,  over  his  carcass.  The 
dark  and  heavy  material  is  very  well  managed,  and  the  effect 
of  waving  wings  and  clinging  vulturine  attitudes  is  rendered 
with  much  success. 

XI.— THE  VINE-COVERED  WALK. 

This  is  a  fanciful  edifice  of  wooden  cross-beams  supported 
on  posts,  covering  an  area  along  the  side  of  that  open  space 
called  the  Concourse.  Its  even,  massive  stone  base,  as  seen 
from  the  Mall,  might,  without  much  effort  of  the  imagination, 
be  figured  as  a  battery  erected  to  command  the  Mall  and  the 
Parade  ;  it  represents  very  well  a  curtain  between  two  octago¬ 
nal  bastions. 


The  Vine-covered  Walk,  Within. 


39 


In  the  distance,  the  stone- work  of  the  Terrace  and  the  high 
ground  of  the  Ramble  close  the  perspective  to  the  left.  One 
carriage  stands  above,  at  the  margin  of  the  Concourse,  awaiting 
its  occupants.  To  the  right  is  the  Casino.  Below  this,  at  the 
edge  of  the  picture,  some  of  the  light  stakes  of  the  wire  fence 
around  the  deer  pen  are  seen. 

We  would  fain  have  had  photographs  of  these  exquisitely 
graceful  deer ;  of  those  fantastic  monkeys,  the  ribald  jests  of 
Nature :  of  the  great  dark  brown  eagles,  with  their  shadowing 
wings,  of  the  parrots,  of  the  splendid  silver  fox  and  his  red- 
haired  cousin,  of  the  raccoon,  the  prairie  wolf,  and  the  bear. 
But  these  animals,  otherwise  of  very  respectable  merit,  have 
not  learned  the  necessity  of  “  Looking  at  this  corner  of  the 
box,  if  you  please,  and  keeping  entirely  still.”  Only  an  “  in¬ 
stantaneous”  picture  of  them  could  have  been  had,  and  it 
would  have  been  flat  and  unsatisfactory.  The  huge  tortoise 
might  have  been  taken,  but  he  has  crawled  into  his  hole.  We 
pass,  therefore,  after  turning  aside  to  watch  the  animals  a  few 
moments,  up  the  right-hand  path,  round  the  pine  tree,  and 
upon  the  floor  of  the  Vine  Walk. 


XII.— THE  VINE-COVERED  WALK,  WITHIN. 

This  view  is  from  the  southern  end  of  the  Walk.  To  the 
right  is  a  strip  of  the  level  space  of  the  Concourse.  This  Con¬ 
course  is  a  smooth,  open  area,  where  carriages  may  drive  up 
and  stand,  while  their  occupants  may  dismount,  and  sit,  or 
stand,  or  walk  about  here  under  the  arbor,  and  look  about 


40 


Central  Park. 


them.  Of  all  that  may  thus  be  seen,  but  very  little  is  shown 
in  the  picture — bits  of  the  stone-work  of  the  Terrace,  portions 
of  the  Ramble  in  the  distance,  and  at  the  right,  over  the 
carriage-wheel,  a  group  of  dusky  cedars,  one  of  the  two  or 
three  points  in  the  whole  Park  where  any  picturesque  qualities 
were  visible  when  the  work  was  begun. 

If,  however,  you  and  I  step  forward  to  the  front  rail  of  the 
Walk,  at  the  left  in  the  picture,  we  see  spread  out  before  us  all 
the  wide  grass  and  gravel  floor  of  the  Mall ;  at  a  dozen  points 
all  around  we  catch  the  lively  picture  of  the  carriages  and 
riders  upon  the  Drive,  and  in  all  directions  leisurely  groups  of 
promenaders  pass  to  and  fro.  The  glittering  pavilion  stands  in 
its  place  like  an  incarnate,  or,  rather,  an  illigneate  flame,  burn¬ 
ing  from  among  the  grass.  The  heavy,  rich  gray  stone  work, 
pierced  and  carved,  of  the  Drive  above  the  Terrace,  stands 
silent,  grave  and  orderly,  to  our  right,  and  the  two  lofty,  fanci¬ 
ful,  bright  red  banner  staffs,  for  the  flags  of  the  State  and  the 
City,  taper  up  beyond.  There  is  a  glimpse  of  the  Lake ;  of 
the  rocky  Ramble  at  its  further  side,  and  again  there  is  the 
Bell  Tower  in  the  distance,  with  the  old  flag  waving  above. 


XIII. — THE  TERRACE— THE  PORTALS  OF  THE  MALL. 

The  architecture  of  the  Terrace  is  the  most  elaborate, 
thoughtful,  finished,  and  impressive  work  of  art  upon  the  Park, 
and  is  a  singularly  interesting  structure.  The  Terrace  and  the 
Pavilion,  whose  designs  and  decorations  show  extraordinary 
freedom,  boldness,  breadth,  and  beauty,  in  conception  and 
execution,  are,  in  great  measure,  the  work  of  the  same  mind ; 


The  Teeeace — the  Poetals  of  the  Mall. 


41 


of  one  whose  decisive  use  of  color  with  architecture,  would 
quickly  betray  him  to  many  observing  eyes ;  Mr.  J.  Wrey 
Mould,  a  pupil  of  Owen  Jones,  and  already  well  known  as  the 
architect  of  the  most  beautiful  church  in  New  York,  that  of 
Dr.  Bellows,  at  the  corner  of  Fourth  Avenue  and  Twentieth 
Street.  The  first  of  our  views  of  the  still  unfinished  Terrace 
is  of  the  Portals  of  the  Mall. 

These  are  two  open  gateways  with  a  balustrade  carried 
across  the  space  between,  where  the  inner  stairway  descends 
to  the  Terrace  and  Fountain.  Each  gateway  is  set  back  from 
the  edge  of  the  Drive  in  a  recess,  and  is  flanked  on  either 
hand  by  its  proper  system  of  posts  and  interposed  stone  rail¬ 
ing.  The  facade,  shown  in  the  picture,  gives  the  range  of  the 
eight  posts  which  stand  in  the  line  of  the  Drive-side.  The  sun 
has  painted  them  with  sharp  and  faithful  touch,  rendering  well 
the  rich,  though  grave,  effect  of  the  heavy  posts,  whose  finials 
stand  about  twelve  feet  from  the  ground,  the  pierced  and 
carved  balustrade,  the  clearly  cut  outlines  of  the  mouldings, 
fillets,  and  ornamental  capstones  and  finials,  the  pendants 
carved  in  the  side  panels  of  the  posts,  the  graceful  decisive 
curves  and  carvings  of  the  terminal  buttress  at  the  extreme 
right,  and  the  light  and  elegant  design  of  the  iron  fenders  set 
in  front  of  each  post. 

All  this  range  of  rich  architecture  is  in  Nova  Scotia  sand¬ 
stone,  whose  calm  gray  gives  a  quiet  and  pleasant  contrast  of 
color  with  the  deep  green  of  the  grass  and  foliage.  The 
smooth  finish  of  the  perfect  roadways  of  the  Park  is  well 
shown  in  the  foreground  of  this  picture. 

6 


42 


Central  Park. 


XIV.—1 THE  TERRACE— THE  INNER  STAIRWAY. 

The  view  looks  down  the  broad  flight  of  granite  steps 
leading  from  the  level  of  the  Mall,  under  the  Drive,  to  the 
Terrace,  the  Fountain,  the  Lake,  and  the  Ramble.  It  is  taken 
from  the  landing-place  half  way  down  the  stairs.  The  three 
great  flagstones  seen  in  the  foreground  are  about  twenty  feet 
long  by  ten  wide.  The  panelled  side  walls,  the  arched  way  in 
front,  the  balustrade  and  posts  above,  are  all  of  the  Jersey 
sandstone,  which  has  been  chosen  for  the  principal  material  of 
the  Terrace.  It  cuts  and  finishes  with  a  grateful,  granular  sur¬ 
face,  and  a  peculiar  neatness  of  light  and  shade ;  its  drawbacks 
are  the  occasional  ferruginous  spots  which  rust  into  uncomely 
stains  here  and  there,  and  a  susceptibility  to  the  influence  of 
frost  and  moisture. 


XV.— TERRACE— A  BALUSTRADE  POST 

We  descend  the  stairs,  pass  through  the  unfinished  arcade 
below,  with  a  sigh  after  the  statuary,  and  fountains,  and  bas- 
reliefs,  and  frescoes,  which  Mr.  Vaux  would  willingly  promise 
as  the  future  adornment  of  its  central  space  and  blank  niches ; 
and  at  the  left  hand  we  pause  before  one  of  the  massive  piers 
or  posts  at  the  level  of  the  Terrace,  and  at  the  end  of  the  bal¬ 
ustrade  of  one  of  the  two  outer  flights  of  steps  from  the  Drive. 
Study  for  a  little  while,  with  me,  the  details  of  this  one  post. 
It  is  excellently  rendered  in  the  picture,  and  is  well  worth  a 


I 


Terrace — Balustrade  Post. 


43 


close  examination.  The  pier  itself  is  a  massive  stone,  more 
than  a  yard  square,  and  about  ten  feet  high.  Its  solid  mass, 
and  square,  him  setting,  make  it  a  fit  termination  and  intro¬ 
duction  for  the  heavy  stone  rail  and  wide  flight  of  steps. 
Notice,  next,  the  just  proportions  of  the  mouldings  at  the  base 
and  under  the  cap ;  their  judicious  under-cutting,  and  success¬ 
ful  light  and  shade;  the  careful  and  true  cutting  of  the  simple, 
graceful,  foliated  rods  in  which  the  edges  are  rounded.  Next, 
the  agreeable  contrast  between  the  fair,  straight  lines  of  the 
shaft,  and  the  transverse  ones  of  the  base  of  the  cap,  and  the 
fluent  leaf  curves  of  the  cap-stone  carvings,  well  relieved  by 
the  line  of  leaf  bosses  down  each  midrib,  and  the  fillet  of 
pomegranates  carried  around  below  them.  Then,  consider  the 
skill  of  the  disposition  made  of  the  design  in  the  field  of  the 
panel  on  the  shaft  side;  two  almond  boughs  in  fruit,  not 
placed  as  if  flung  there,  but  laid  decorously  together,  while  a 
few  wheat  stems,  falling  out  of  the  field  of  the  pictorial  design 
above,  are  weighed  down  by  their  laden  ripe  heads  to  a 
pendent  right  line  among  the  leafy  twigs.  Wonderfully 
natural  is  all  this  still-life ;  very  wonderful,  to  be  cut  in  this 
coarse-grained  grit,  are  all  these  details  of  twig,  leaf,  and 
stem. 

Contemplate  finally  the  pictorial  centre  of  the  whole  side  of 
the  pier;  a  deep-cut  hemisphere,  giving  quite  a  field  in  its 
depth-diameter,  relieved  above  by  the  single  cusp  of  its  rim, 
and  filled  in  with  a  little  tangle  of  “  lodged”  wheat,  upon  whose 
stems  stand  two  quails.  One  is  picking  a  dinner  out  of  the 
wheat-heads,  and  the  other  looking  about  him  in  the  suspicious 
manner  of  that  shy  bird.  By  some  mischance,  one  quail  has 


44 


Central  Park. 


lost  his  bill.  I  do  not  remember  any  other  defacement  in 
the  Park. 

Before  we  go,  see  the  great  variety  of  the  designs  that  are 
carved  in  the  centre-pieces  of  these  balustrade  panels,  and  on 
the  posts;  and  consider  their  good  taste.  Here  are,  among 
others,  a  bird’s-nest,  with  one  chick  just  out  of  his  shell,  but¬ 
terflies,  bees — big  enough  to  make  a  table-spoonful  of.  honey  at 
a  time, — an  ear  of  corn,  roses,  fuchsias,  tulips,  quinces,  a  deer’s 
head,  wild  ducks  rising  from  a  lake,  a  net  of  thorns  carved  into 
an  open-work  closed  basket  around  the  centre  of  the  panel, 
pine-cones,  a  pair  of  skates,  fern-leaves.  Every  one  is  a 
delicate  sandstone  allusion  to  the  Park,  or  something  in  it  or 
meant  by  it. 

XVI.—' TERRACE—1 THE  GRAND  STAIRWAYS. 

The  view  is  from  beyond  the  northwestern  border  of  the 
Lower  Terrace,  and  gives  a  good  idea  of  the  two  great  outer 
stairways  which  lead  down  from  the  Drive.  Between  them 
extends  the  graceful  Arcade  which  leads  below  the  Drive  to 
the  inner  staircase.  In  the  centre  of  the  picture  is  the  heavy 
stone- work  screen  across,  but  at  some  distance  before,  the 
eastern  stairway;  behind  it  is  intended  to  stand  one  of  the 
principal  groups  of  statuary  contemplated  in  the  plan  of  the 
Terrace.  The  corresponding  screen  before  the  other  stairway 
is  not  yet  erected.  At  the  right  hand,  the  work  upon  the 
basin  of  the  Great  Fountain  is  seen  in  progress.  At  the  foot 
of  the  further  stairway,  a  lady  and  gentleman  are  standing 
near  the  post  whose  group  of  quails  we  just  examined.  Those 


- 


The  Gondola. 


45 


high  and  massive  panelled  double  pedestals  at  either  side  of 
the  upper  flight  of  each  stairway,  are  intended  to  support  at 
their  further  ends — those  next  the  Drive — four  symbolic  stat¬ 
ues,  of  Childhood,  Youth,  Manhood,  and  Old  Age ;  while  upon 
the  four  answering  pedestals  are  to  stand  four  great  vases 
of  flowers.  But  little  imagination  is  needed  to  see  how  im¬ 
pressively  these  sculptured  figures  will  stand  silently  up  there, 
relieved  against  the  sky.  Other  appropriate  groups  and  fig¬ 
ures  are  intended  to  be  placed  at  other  points. 

XVII.—1 THE  GONDOLA. 

We  return  toward  the  Lake,  and  skirting  along  its  shore, 
we  pause  to  examine  the  Gondola ;  a  real,  live  Gondola,  so  to 
speak,  purchased  in  Venice  by  Mr.  John  A.  C  Gray,  a  former 
Commissioner  and  good  friend  of  the  Park,  and  sent  hither  as 
a  gift.  Except  the  strange,  flaring,  wide-bladed  steel  orna¬ 
ment,  with  projecting  teeth,  at  the  bow,  which  is  like  a 
shrunken  and  inverted  avlust/re ,  such  as  decorated  the  Roman 
galley-stern,  and  except  the  brazen  arm-rests  of  the  outside 
seats,  it  is  dead,  gloomy  black  throughout ;  hull,  cabin,  deck, 
and  oars.  A  dreary-looking  craft,  is  she  not  ?  a  water-hearse. 
She  was  not  quite  still  when  the  picture  was  taken,  so  that 
her  bow  is  indistinct.  She  should  have  been  pictured  empty. 
It  was  wrong  to  man  the  exiled  Venetian  craft  with  six  shirt¬ 
sleeved  Yankees.  They  are  in  the  right  place,  but  they  are 
the  wrong  men.  The  oarsman  who  stands  at  the  stern  is  in 
the  gondolier’s  place.  She  is  propelled  by  one  oar,  which  is 
worked  with  a  sort  of  sculling  movement,  over  that  high  row- 
lock  on  which  it  rests  in  the  picture. 


46 


Central  Park. 


XVIII.— CASCADE  NORTH  OF  THE  TERRACE. 

Having  inspected  this  foreign  nautical  visitant,  let  us  step 
round  tlie  next  turn  in  the  path,  and  glance  at  the  little 
Cascade  that  falls  into  the  bay  round  the  point  close  here  to 
the  west,  opposite  the  Terrace.  I  will  betray  to  you  one  of 
the  secrets  of  the  place.  The  Commissioners  are  ex  officio  the 
Naiads  of  this  fount,  and  when  they  will,  a  more  bounteous 
urn  discharges  its  heavier  stream.  Yet  these  slender,  flashing 
threads,  and  little  sheets  of  water,  have  their  own  more  deli¬ 
cate  charms.  This  is  no  imposing  show.  The  picture — like 
others  in  this  collection — illustrates  a  class  of  quiet  little 
nooks,  of  which  very  many  exist  in  the  Ramble  and  the  Upper 
Park ;  whose  small  attractions  unite  together  into  a  multitude 
which  is  collectively  important  and  delightful,  and  properly 
entitled  to  pictorial  commemoration.  There  are  some  points 
in  the  picture  which  have  their  special  pictorial  value ;  for  in¬ 
stance,  the  exquisite  finish  and  detail  of  the  rough  surface  of 
the  rock  at  the  left,  and  of  the  disorderly  fell  of  grass  and 
weeds  that  strays  along  its  face  down  to  the  water. 

XIX.— THE  RAMBLE— RUSTIC  SEAT. 

We  have  thus  entered  upon  a  circuit  of  the  Lake ;  in  the 
course  of  which  we  digress,  if  you  please,  into  the  pleasant 
mazes  of  the  shady  Ramble  once  or  twice.  Thus  now :  we 
retrace  our  steps,  take  the  first  turn  to  the  right,  and  then 
quickly  another  to  the  left,  and  ascend  the  hill  to  this  shaded 
Rustic  Seat. 


Ramble — Rustic  Seat. 


47 


From  the  spot  where  the  camera  was  planted  to  take  this 
picture,  there  is  a  much  better  view  than  from  the  shaded  seat 
itself.  Indeed,  Mr.  Vaux  evidently  did  not  mean  that  those 
who  should  rest  under  this  his  roof,  should  see  or  be  seen,  so 
much  as  rest  under  shade.  And,  as  you  observe  by  looking 
at  the  picture,  the  structure  has  an  air  as  if  it  were  just  look¬ 
ing  out  from  among  the  bushes,  but  did  not  intend  to  attract 
attention.  And  as  we  sit  down,  you  perceive  at  once  how 
delightful  a  place  it  must  be,  on  summer  evenings,  for  two 
lovers  to  be — interrupted  by  two  other  lovers.  Study,  for  a 
moment,  this  workmanship.  The  rustic  rails  of  the  seats  are 
tight  and  strong,  and  yield  to  no  pull.  The  roof  is  in  order, 
and  evidently  abundantly  weather-proof ;  the  seats  are  solid 
and.  the  drainage-holes  through  them  are  placed  where  any 
casual  rain-water  will  run  off.  Remember  these  little  things, 
I  pray  you,  when  you  shall  erect  a  rustic  seat  on  your  own 
elegant  grounds. 

If  we  step  back  to  the  place  of  the  camera,  we  obtain  a 
quite  commanding  view.  Far  to  the  east  is  the  ornamental 
pool,  beyond  which  the  conservatory  will  stand,  and  the  single 
jet  of  its  fountain  is  dancing  in  the  sunlight.  A  sweeping 
curve  of  the  Drive,  populous  with  carriages,  comes  down 
around  the  hill  further  south.  Before  us,  across  the  Lake,  are 
the  rich  lines  and  masses  of  the  Terrace,  with  the  Vine  Walk 
and  the  Casino  at  the  left,  and  the  wide  green  expanse  of  the 
Parade  to  the  right.  We  gaze  a  few  moments,  and  return. 


48 


Central  Park. 


XX.— THE  RAMBLE— A  WALK. 

On  our  way  back  again  to  tlie  Lake  side,  we  pause  to  look 
down  this  quiet  bit  of  shaded,  secluded  walk.  It  is  character¬ 
istic  of  this  charming  Ramble.  You  remember  my  describing 
the  locality  of  the  Ramble,  on  a  rough  hill-side,  extending 
across  the  Park.  It  occupies  about  thirty-six  acres,  and  is 
nearly  all  quite  thickly  planted  with  trees  and  shrubbery. 
Backwards  and  forwards,  winding  and  anastomosing  in  every 
direction  all  over  this  surface,  runs  an  intricate  plexus  of  some 
miles  of  footpaths.  Here  and  there,  at  convenient  distance, 
are  abundance  of  seats ;  and  all  about  in  the  pleasant  sum¬ 
mer  weather,  up  and  down  these  mazy,  shady  walks,  loungers 
are  leisurely  moving  on,  and  birds  and  lovers  are  straying,  and 
flirting,  and  cooing.  Even  in  this  autumn  month  you  still 
hear  the  chirping  of  sparrows,  and  the  peculiar  complaining 
call  of  the  robins  to  one  another  in  the  trees  and  among  the 
fallen  leaves. 

This  little  straight  stretch  of  shaded  walk  is  in  the  depth  of 
the  copse-wood.  It  is  almost  arched  across  with  shade  already. 
In  one  or  two  more  years  it  will  become  a  dim  embowered 
arbor  of  rest. 


XXI.— THE  RAMBLE— RUSTIC  SEAT  NEAR  THE  BOW  BRIDGE. 

We  turn,  now,  toward  the  Lake,  pass  along  its  margin  to 
the  entrance  of  the  graceful  Bow  Bridge,  but  turning  to  the 
left,  leave  it  behind ;  take  the  two  next  leftward  turns  also,  and 
so  climb  up  around  the  evergreen  thicket  to  this  fanciful  and 


Ramble — Rustic  Seat. 


49 


graceful  rustic  seat,  one  of  Mr.  Vaux’s  most  fortunate  little 
design. 

I  heard  one  name  it  The  Toadstool.  One  might  easily  im¬ 
agine  a  gigantic,  cedar  mushroom  to  have  jumped  up,  after 
the  manner  of  those  impulsive  agarics,  just  in  the  right  place 
some  night,  and  to  have  been  fitted  with  the  seats  and  the  rus¬ 
tic  rail.  It  has,  however,  received  a  perhaps  better  local 
baptism  by  the  not  ill-chosen  name  of  The  Umbrella — or,  if 
strictly  local  operative  pronunciation  be  preferred  to  Webster’s 
— The  Umberill. 

From  its  high  nook,  deftly  sheltered  to  northeast  and 
northwest  by  fir  and  thicker  spruce,  and  the  more  feathery 
soft-seeming  boughs  of  white  pine,  we  look  upon  yet  another 
set  of  pleasant  views.  Both  the  principal  basins  of  the  Lake 
are  below  us.  Beyond  it  are  the  Parade  and  the  Drive, 
toward  the  right.  To  the  left,  is  the  Terrace  once  more  and 
the  Mall ;  and  see  the  people  ascending  and  descending  the 
great  stairs.  They  recall  to  my  mind  the  angels  on  Jacob’s 
ladder  in  my  grandmother’s  great  Bible. 

But  all  this  is  not  in  the  picture.  Then  look  for  a  moment 
at  what  is  in  it ;  at  the  peculiarly  happy  softness  and  luxuri¬ 
ously  delicate  shading  of  the  stem  of  the  arbor,  and  its  seats 
and  arm-rests,  and  of  the  rustic  railing  around  it.  Mere  still- 
life,  no  doubt;  a  picture  of  sticks.  But  the  intelligent  eye 
finds  exquisite  beauty  in  that  picture  of  sticks ;  so  fine,  so  soft, 
and  yet  so  sharp  in  drawing,  so  perfect  in  perspective ;  the  high 
lights  so  fortunately  touched  in. 

7 


50 


Central  Park. 


XXII.— ARBOR  REAR  SCHILLER’S  BUST. 

We  go  northward  a  little,  instead  of  turning  back,  and  by 
a  short  circuit  come  down  a  steep  slope  by  a  path  which  leads 
us  through  this  Arbor  to  the  pathway  by  the  Lake  side. 
Across  this  pathway  you  may  see  projected  the  shadows  of 
the  attentive  audience  who  superintended  the  operator.  A 
Park-keeper,  in  his  soldierly  uniform  of  gray — he  would  be 
scandalized  if  he  knew  that  he  had  been  taken  for  a  mere 
shirt — seized  the  opportunity  of  immortality;  so  did  the  young 
lady  who  perches  upon  the  stone  outside.  Three  other  less 
confident,  or  less  pleasing  persons,  bestowed  themselves  in  the 
background. 

This  little  Arbor  is  a  favorite  seat.  I  have  never  passed 
it  on  a  summer  evening  without  finding  a  comfortable  couple 
ensconced  within.  And  the  sitter  in  it  has  very  pleasant 
glimpses  of  the  Lake.  I  have  noted  two  vagrant  kittens  who 
seem  to-  exercise  a  feline  squatter  sovereignty  in  this  vicinity, 
and  who  will  accept  contributions,  I  find,  of  animal  food. 
Close  inspection  will  show,  back  of  the  retiring  ladies  at  the 
further  end  of  the  Arbor,  one  of  the  steps  by  which  we  came 
down,  and  by  which  there  is  access  to  the  interior  of  the 
Ramble. 


XXIH.— RUSTIC  BRIDGE  REAR  DRIP  ROCK. 

Just  a  step  back  of  the  Arbor,  we  get  this  view  of  the 
little  Rustic  Bridge,  over  which  we  shall  pass  in  a  moment, 
with  the  colossal  bust  of  Schiller  in  the  background,  and  three 


Rustic  Bridge,  and  Drip  Rock. 


51 


votaresses — as  it  might  be — but  evidently  looking  at  the 
camera.  The  scene  is  very  pleasant,  and  the  extremely  good 
execution  of  this  photograph  renders  it  still  further  worth 
studying.  Observe,  for  instance,  how  much  there  is  of  what 
is  called  “  atmosphere tliat  is,  how  well  and  strongly  the 
boughs  of  the  spruces  at  both  sides  of  the  foreground,  and  the 
high  weeds  between  them,  seem  to  stand  this  side  of  the  pic¬ 
ture  ;  how  perfect  are  the  shadows  in  the  motionless  water ; 
how  very  delicate  the  gradations  and  variations  of  shade  on 
the  rocks  and  stone  steps,  and  on  the  cedar  railing  of  the  little 
bridge ;  and  how  you  can  look  further  and  further  off  up  the 
rocky  bank,  beyond,  among  shrubbery,  trees,  and  ledges,  until 
the  shadowing  boughs  shut  down  too  darkly  in  the  distance. 
Notice  the  fineness  and  truth  of  the  minute  folds  of  the  ladies’ 
drapery;  look  as  keenly  as  you  choose  at  the  immovable 
bronze  Bust ;  compare  it  with  the  nearer  view  in  No.  25  ;  and 
you  will  see  how  perfectly  the  head  is  given  in  this  more  dis¬ 
tant  view,  the  expression  varying,  because  the  face  is  seen  at  a 
less  angle  of  elevation. 


XXIV.— THE  SAME  BRIDGE,  AND  DRIP  ROCK. 

This  is  a  nearer  view  of  the  same  little  bridge  from  the 
end  towards  the  colossal  Bust,  together  with  a  portion  of  the 
steep,  rocky  hill-side  above  it,  and  the  little  trickling  rill  whose 
scanty  course  over  the  wide  flattish  ledges  has  given  them  the 
name  of  Drip  Rock.  Look  just  at  the  left  of  the  nearest  of 
the  figures  in  the  picture :  those  three  short  brown  stains  on 
the  rock  are  where  the  thin  current  creeps  down.  That  film 


52 


Central  Park. 


of  water  makes  no  picture ;  we  only  see  tlie  rock  tkrough  it, 
brown  because  it  is  wetted  by  tke  invisible  film  above. 

This  picture  shows  the  solid  structure  of  the  little  bridge ; 
the  close  pebble  pavement  at  its  hither  end ;  the  large  boulder 
close  by,  with  trailing  vines  garlanding  it,  and  a  fuzzy  bunch 
of  broad-leafed  grass  above,  like  an  ill-dressed  wig.  There  is 
a  glimpse  of  the  dark  water  in  the  little  pool  back  of  the 
bridge.  The  rocks  of  the  hill-side  lie  beyond.  Among  them  a 
steep  path  ascends  into  the  Ramble ;  and  the  four  respectable 
gentlemen  in  position,  casually  present,  favor  the  world  with 
their  full-lengths,  which  would  add  much  life  to  the  picture 
had  they  stood,  not  as  if  they  were  to  have  portraits  and  pay 
for  them,  but  in  such  attitudes  as  if  they  were  merely  going 
along,  and  did  not  know  that  there  was  to  be  a  picture. 

XXV.— SCHILLER. 

This  colossal  bust  is  the  most  striking  piece  of  sculpture 
yet  erected  in  the  Park.  The  Eagles,  at  their  bloody  banquet, 
are  spirited  and  savage.  The  Boy  with  the  Swan  is  graceful 
and  pleasing  enough.  The  Crawford  Sculptures  are  as  yet 
immured  in  some  place  of  storage,  and  we  know  them  at 
present  by  faith  only,  and  not  by  sight.  But  this  bust  of  the 
powerful  German  poet,  standing  with  silent  majesty  in  its 
beautiful  nook  on  the  lake-side,  is  profoundly  impressive.  It 
is  of  bronze,  upon  a  high  stone  pedestal,  and  is  rendered  with 
great  sharpness  and  truth  in  the  photograph.  The  massive 
forehead,  full  and  high,  and  so  remarkably  broad,  the  majestic 
setting-on  of  the  head,  the  deep,  large  grave  eyes,  the  firm 


Schiller. 


53 


closure  of  tlie  mouth,  the  strong  jaw — all  correspond  to  the  large 
and  vivid  and  noble  independence  and  positive  self-assured 
strength  of  Schiller’s  moral  and  intellectual  character ;  while 
the  fine  modelling  of  the  lips,  and  the  clean  cut,  sharp  lines 
of  the  prominent  nose,  add  an  impression  of  sensitiveness, 
enthusiasm,  delicacy,  and  refinement.  The  nook  where  this 
noble  bust  stands  enshrined  is  well  selected.  Rough  rocks, 
and  wild  trees  and  vines  stand  around,  rude  and  untamed  by 
human  art,  as  the  nature-loving  poet  would  have  had  them ; 
and  before  him  the  lake  lies  broad  and  open  for  sunlight  or 
storm.  Silent  and  calm,  he  seems  to  gaze  thoughtfully  upon 
the  waters  and  the  skies.  And  along  the  pleasant  footpath 
close  before,  the  throng  of  enjoying  visitors  passes  by ;  the  same 
humanity  which  he  studied  and  felt  and  knew  so  deeply,  so 
strongly,  and  so  well ;  so  that  the  memorial  of  the  mighty 
dead  poet  is  daily  begirt  with  the  themes  of  his  song.  And 
almost  all  of  them  either  know  or  learn  who  was  he  that  is 
represented  by  this  stately  head ;  and  the  daily  and  reverential 
naming  of  the  great  poet’s  name  before  him,  may  easily  be 
imagined  the  soft,  unbroken  echo  in  this  far  transatlantic 
world,  of  that  stirring  applauding  cry  in  the  theatre  at  Leipsic, 
when  the  audience  recognized  among  them  the  author  of  tlie 
drama  of  the  evening,  “  The  Maid  of  Orleans,”  and  all  arose 
spontaneously  together,  with  a  thundering  “  Fs  lebe  Friedrich 
Schiller  /”  And  long  live  he — and  Germany — and  Freedom  ! 


54 


Central  Park. 


XXVI.—' THE  CAVE. 

We  pursue  our  way  along  tlie  skirts  of  the  Ramble, 
keeping  tlie  lake-side  path,  and  turning  aside  into  an  open¬ 
ing  to  our  left,  among  the  tkick  shrubbery,  we  step  out 
into  an  open  space,  upon  a  great  bare  rock,  and  find  our¬ 
selves  upon  one  side  of  a  deep  chasm,  at  whose  further  end 
the  Cave  opens  its  dark  mouth.  The  picture  gives,  with 
exquisite  sharpness  and  delicacy,  the  light  and  shade  of  the 
ragged  stratified  rocks,  the  fine  tracery  of  the  thinly  leaved 
larches,  and  the  darker  masses  of  white  pine  that  crown  the 
height  beyond.  The  cavern  below  is  full  of  deep  shadow ;  and 
the  sullen  and  opaque  water  lies  muddy  and  motionless,  as  if 
unkindly  water  spirits  shrouded  themselves  in  its  tawny 
depths.  Here  is  something  which  the  photograph  does  not 
show.  While  we  gaze,  suddenly  a  gay  group  of  youths  and 
maidens  appears  in  the  furthest  depths  of  the  cave ;  passing  over 
as  phantoms  glide  across  a  sorcerer’s  mirror,  they  disappear 
at  the  other  side.  Phantoms  are  no  part  of  the  Park  zoology, 
however,  so  far  as  we  know;  let  us  go  and  see.  We  follow 
the  path,  round  by  the  right,  and  come  in  due  season  down  to 
the  opening  of  a  great  chasm  or  fissure,  nearly  at  the  water 
level,  splitting  the  living  rock  down  to  an  unmeasured  depth, 
from  the  very  upper  surface.  We  enter  a  quite  roomy  ante¬ 
chamber,  and  thence  pass  through  the  narrow  part  of  the 
chasm,  out  to  that  open  part  of  the  Cave  into  which  the  picture 
gives  us  a  glimpse.  Here  we  find  that  that  enormous  block 
upon  which  the  two  persons  in  the  picture — apparently  park- 
keepers — are  standing,  is  an  unsupported  projection,  held  up 


Rustic  Akch,  West  oe  Ramble. 


55 


by  the  rooted  balance  of  its  vast  remainder  at  the  side  on  which 
we  entered,  and  otherwise  seemingly  in  constant  danger  of 
falling.  Hence,  by  steep,  narrow  and  incommodious,  but  yet 
highly  appropriate,  steps,  hewn  in  the  solid  stone,  we  climb  up 
again  to  the  sunlight,  coming  out  behind  the  larches  at  the  left 
hand  of  the  Cave’s  mouth. 


XXVIL— RUSTIC  ARCH,  WEST  OF  RAMBLE. 

Having  achieved  the  adventure  of  the  Cave,  we  will,  if  you 
please,  turn  round  to  go  back  again ;  for  we  must  needs  pass 
through  an  Arch.  We  return  but  a  few  paces  upon  our  steps, 
and  take  the  first  turn  to  the  left  for  this  purpose,  and  the  path 
leads  under  it.  We  go  through,  and  turn  around,  and  uet  this 
view  from  the  west.  This  Arch  has  quite  the  appearance  of  a 
ruin,  in  virtue  of  the  cornice  that  runs  across  above  the  arch¬ 
way,  as  if  there  had  been  other  masonry  above,  and  in  virtue 
of  the  dislocated  hewn  stones  left  along  the  top,  as  if  the  few 
remains  of  other  masonry,  that  has  been  torn  down.  This 
effect  is  somewhat  heightened  by  a  slight  calcareous  deliques¬ 
cence  upon  the  surface  of  some  of  the  archway  stones.  Observe 
the  pleasant  play  of  the  sunlight  upon  the  upper  part  of  the 
arch  in  the  picture.  The  same  sunlight,  over-abundant  upon 
the  foreground  deciduous  foliage  and  the  white  pine  beyond, 
has  made  them  look  as  if  all  tipped  with  snow.  A  path  runs 
along  the  top  of  the  archway.  We  should  have  come  into 
it  from  the  right  of  the  picture,  had  we  followed  straight  on 
from  the  other  side  of  the  Cave.  It  soon  joins  into  the  maze 
of  walks  of  the  Ramble. 


56 


Central  Park. 


SXYin.— THE  OAK  BRIDGE. 

Turning-  from  the  Arch,  we  go  straight  back  to  the  Lake, 
and  resume  onr  circuit.  Passing  to  the  right,  we  quickly  reach 
the  Oak  Bridge,  which  spans  the  northern  arm  of  the  Lake, 
and  crossing  to  its  further  end,  we  look  back  upon  View 
XXVIII.  In  this  picture  the  peculiar  softness  and  tone  of  the 
shading  are  such,  that  it  looks  like  a  moonlight  view.  It  was 
a  mid-day  picture,  however,  the  shadows  falling  across  its  floor 
from  a  little  to  the  east  of  south.  The  Oak  Bridge  is  named 
from  its  principal  material.  The  stout  posts,  which  stand  in 
such  a  long  perspective,  the  rails,  and  other  portions  of  it,  are 
of  solid  white  oak.  The  foreshortening,  the  tips  and  edges  of 
high  light  along  the  balustrade,  and  the  dark  background 
beyond,  give  spirit  to  the  scene.  A  bevy  of  ladies  in 
the  path  to  the  right  stand  with  that  patient  interest  which 
will  make  most  persons  so  amenable  to  orders,  if,  by  obeying, 
they  can  be  pictured.  Beyond  them  is  seen  the  rustic  roof  of 
a  boat-landing,  nestling  under  the  rocky  bank ;  still  further  on, 
rock,  tree,  and  water  make  a  varied  and  beautiful  background ; 
and  the  Lake  stretches  away  to  the  right,  the  view  reaching 
across  one  of  its  longest  diameters. 

XXIX.— OAK  BRIDGE— SECOND  VIEW. 

This  view  is  taken  from  a  little  way  down  the  western  side  of 
the  Lake.  This  path,  from  this  bridge  eastward,  past  the  Cave 
and  Schiller’s  Bust,  over  the  Bow  Bridge  to  the  Terrace,  the 
Mall,  the  Vine-clad  Walk,  and  the  Animals,  is  the  most  fre- 


Rustic  Bridge — West  Arm  of  Lake. 


57 


quented  portion  of  the  Park.  You  see  in  the  view  what  an  audi¬ 
ence  our  operator  enjoyed,  and  how  motionlessly  they  waited 
upon  his  manipulations.  There  is  almost  all  the  time  a  row  of 
gazers  leaning  over  the  balustrades  of  this  bridge,  feeding  of 
watching  the  swans.  These  magnificent  birds  haunt  this 
nook  of  the  Lake  pretty  assiduously,  several  of  their  feeding 
troughs  being  anchored  north  of  the  bridge,  and  many  casual 
contributions  accruing  from  passengers.  The  western  bank  is 
cropped  quite  clean  by  their  pasturing  on  the  grass,  and  is  all 
flecked  with  swans’  down.  Indeed,  this  Bridge  ought  to  be 
named  the  Swans’  Bridge.  Among  the  swans,  are  two  black 
ones,  with  rose-red  bills ;  and,  also,  an  Ugly  Duck,  a  West 
Indian  creature,  with  preternatural  long  legs ;  and  some  white 
ducks,  also.  We  have  no  swan  in  any  picture.  They  can 
rarely  be  taken,  except  by  an  “  instantaneous”  picture,  which 
is  flat  and  imperfect,  as  a  work  of  art.  They  will  not  stay 
still  long  enough  for  the  sun  to  copy  them. 

XXX.— RUSTIC  BRIDGE— WEST  ARM  OF  LAKE. 

We  pause  upon  the  broad  Stone  Bridge  which  carries  the 
Drive  over  this  arm  of  the  Lake,  and  look  over  its  western 
balustrade,  up  to  the  little  Rustic  Bridge  above.  In  this  view 
may  be  seen  the  same  moonlight  effect  as  that  referred  to  on 
the  Oak  Bridge.  The  narrow  inlet  winds  between  two  steep 
banks,  passes  under  the  Rustic  Bridge,  and  widens  out  beyond 
into  quite  a  breadth  of  water,  a  secluded  little  bay,  sometimes 
called  the  Ladies’  Skating  Pond.  The  Bridge  itself  is  a  plain 
and  strongly-built  way,  carrying  the  footpath  across.  The  pic- 


58 


Central  Park. 


ture  is  a  good  one,  and  tlie  bold  relief  of  the  point  of  rocks  at 
the  left,  its  perspective,  and  the  shadows  on  the  water,  are 
very  agreeable. 

We  follow  the  footpath  to  the  left  of  the  Drive  from  this 
point,  and  now  we  shall  coast  along  the  whole  western  shore 
of  the  Lake,  to  its  southern  end.  The  walk  is  very  pleasant. 
On  one  side,  a  lively  throng  on  the  Drive  and  the  footpaths 
keep  us  unfailing  company ;  on  the  other,  the  water,  sometimes 
plashing  close  at  onr  feet  on  a  little  open  beach,  sometimes 
seen  through  thickets  or  trees,  attends  us  as  closely.  Out  on 
its  surface,  here  and  there,  the  swans  and  ducks  sail  about  in 
fleets  or  on  solitary  cruises.  Sometimes  a  select  party  of 
stately  white  swans  is  bustling  and  diving  for  crumbs  as 
greedily  as  so  many  gray  geese.  Some  of  the  splendid 
birds  will  eat  out  of  your  hand.  But  remember  what  the 
wise  old  Professor  said,  that  “  If  they  hit  you  with  their  wing, 
they  will  break  a  horse’s  leg.”  Therefore,  be  careful  “  Not  to 
Annoy  the  Birds.” 

XXXI.— RUSTIC  LANDING  PLACE,  SOUTH  OF  LAKE. 

This  little  boat-landing  is  nearly  at  the  end  of  the  southern¬ 
most  bay  of  the  Lake.  It  is  framed  of  cedar,  after  Mr.  Vaux’s 
design,  in  the  normal  and  agreeable  Park  manner.  The  view 
looks  west  of  north,  and  is  taken  from  a  ^loping  rock  south 
of  the  boat-landing,  and  on  the  road  towards  it.  The  path  by 
which  we  skirted  the  Lake  in  coming  hither  from  the  region 
of  the  Oak  Bridge,  runs  along  the  shore  to  the  left,  in  the 
view ;  and  past  the  boat-house  itself,  may  be  seen,  indistinct 


The  Bow  Beldge. 


59 


from  distance,  the  shore  of  the  northwest  part  of  the  Lake. 
The  little  edifice  stands  strongly  out  against  the  quiet  water. 
To  the  right,  the  pebbles  in  the  path  show  with  a  curious 
clearness,  and  at  the  edge  of  the  view  one  of  the  compendious 
field-codes  of  Park  regulations  is  seen  in  its  little  camp-stool¬ 
like  frame  ;  a  sort  of  curule  chair  for  the  edicts  of  the  Commis¬ 
sioners  to  repose  in. 

From  this  point  we  pass  onward  along  the  Lake  shore, 
skirting  close  down  to  the  water  upon  a  pleasant  open  beach 
for  much  of  the  distance,  until  we  reach  the  Bow  Bridge. 


XXXII.— THE  BOW  BRIDGE. 

We  will  sit  down  on  one  of  the  seats  that  await  us  here 
on  the  path,  and  look  upon  the  Bow  Bridge  from  this  spot,  a 
few  yards  south  of  it.  It  is  beyond  comparison  the  most 
beautiful  bridge,  and  is  one  of  the  three  most  beautiful  con¬ 
structions,  in  the  Park.  The  other  two  are  the  Music  Pavilion 
and  the  Terrace.  This  bridge  crosses  the  narrow  strait 
between  that  part  of  the  Lake  immediately  before  the  Terrace, 
and  its  broader  western  expanse.  It  is  of  iron  except  its  floor 
of  clean  plank ;  with  sandstone  abutments,  and  painted  of 
a  shade  very  similar  to  that  of  these  abutments. 

The  curves  and  proportions  of  this  arch  are  apparently 
simple,  but  are  extremely  subtle  and  refined  in  trace  and 
combination ;  their  elements  being  conic  and  not  circular 
curves.  The  arch  somehow  seems  to  leap  out  with  a  lithe 
forward  spring,  like  a  leopard’s,  instead  of  the  upward  bound 
which  higher  arches  take ;  and  thus  its  long  low  curve  gives 

O'?  O  O 


60 


Central  Park. 


an  impression  as  it  were  of  sinewy  active  vigor,  purposeful  and 
progressive,  in  place  of  tlie  burdened  massiveness  of  a  flat 
bridge  with  piers  or  arches,  or  the  upward  spring  of  a  higher 
single  arch.  The  duplicated  chain  tracery  of  the  pierced 
parapet  gives  remarkable  lightness  to  the  general  effect,  and 
a  singularly  elegant  finish  is  added  by  the  four  great  shapely 
vases  upon  the  parapet  at  either  end,  crowned  with  luxuriant 
wreath-growths  of  flowers  and  vines.  Below  the  arch,  a  boat¬ 
landing  is  seen,  and  the  “  Umbrella”  stands  in  the  high  horizon 
above,  on  the  brow  of  the  nearest  hill  in  the  Ramble. 


XXXIII.— THE  BOW  BRIDGE  PARAPET. 

This  second  view  is  a  decisively  fore-shortened  one,  from 
the  same  side  of  the  Bridge,  but  from  a  point  close  to  one  end 
of  the  parapet.  It  shows  in  strong  light  and  perspective  the 
peculiar  curves  of  both  parapet  and  footway,  the  easy  out¬ 
lines  of  the  flower  vases,  the  fanciful  effect  of  their  four  han¬ 
dles,  and  the  untrained  grace  that  Nature  adds  by  contrasting 
the  wilder  lines  and  masses  of  the  vines  and  flower  growths, 
against  the  set  symmetrical  manufacturing  of  the  artist. 
These  flower  vases,  so  characteristic  and  so  prominent,  ought 
in  fact  to  furnish  the  name  of  the  Bridge.  It  should  be  called 
the  Flower  Bridge. 

In  this  view  is  seen  much  more  distinctly  than  in  the  pre¬ 
vious  one,  the  little  landing-place  at  the  further  shore  and  the 
large  rock  behind  it. 


The  Nook  nsr  the  Ramble. 


61 


XXXIV.— THE  NOOK  IN  THE  RAMBLE. 

We  go  onward  from  the  Bridge,  and  pursuing  for  a  few 
steps  the  path  we  followed  before  in  ascending  to  the  “  Um¬ 
brella,”  we  penetrate  into  the  interior  of  the  Ramble,  by  devi¬ 
ous  ways  that  in  two  or  three  turns  leave  us  with  little  idea 
whither  we  are  going.  Past  embowered  seats,  and  a  quiet 
pool  with  one  or  two  ducks  unobtrusively  dabbling  in  it ; 
up  and  down  various  gravel  walks ;  at  last,  turning  aside 
through  a  sort  of  gateway  in  the  rocks  that  line  the  path,  we 
find  ourselves  in  this  curious  Nook,  walled  round  with  shelving 
gray  rocks,  and  containing  at  its  further  extremity  a  log 
formed  into  a  rustic  seat.  It  is  a  very  silent  place,  oddly 
hidden  ;  where — were  it  not  for  the  chance  visitors  who  would 
peep  in  and  frighten  away  one’s  stray  thoughts — one  might 
sit  and  meditate  and  fancy  and  write  all  some  long  summer 
day. 

The  camera  has  given,  with  exquisitely  sharp  and  delicate 
detail  and  finish,  the  half  conchoidal  surfaces  of  some  of  the 
rocks,  the  play  of  light  on  their  rough  faces  and  in  their  rifts 
and  hollows,  the  slender  stems  and  their  leafage  among  them, 
the  peculiar  shallow  fluting  and  channelling  of  the  barkless 
brown  log  and  the  stray  leaves  sprinkled  here  and  there  over 
the  earth.  We  may  sit  a  few  moments,  either  on  the  log  or  on 
the  other  seat,  at  one  side  of  the  nook,  and  then  we  will  go  on. 


62 


Central  Park. 


XXXV.— STEPS  IN  THE  RAMBLE. 

A  few  yards  further  we  ascend  these  steps.  The  scene  is 
merely  one  more  of  the  quiet  little  views  of  which  there  are  so 
many  in  the  Ramble.  Rocks  shut  in  the  pathway  on  either 
side ;  the  trees  and  the  thick  shrubbery  veil  it  off  from  the 
rest  of  the  world ;  while  above,  the  bare  slanting  bed  of  gneiss 
seems  to  forbid  any  further  progress.  But  just  as  the  way 
seems  utterly  to  fail,  it  opens  to  a  wider  space ;  for  on  one  side 
we  can  mount  the  very  ledge  that  seemed  to  forbid  us,  and 
find  ourselves  all  at  once  on  a  breezy  open  point,  from  which 
we  can  see  almost  all  over  the  Lower  Park.  And  on  the  other 
side  we  enter  a  wider  pathway,  and  skirt  along  an  open,  sunny 
stretch  of  meadow,  with  the  heavy  wall  of  the  old  Reservoir 
to  the  north  of  it,  first  eastward,  then  at  a  sharp  angle  west¬ 
ward,  toward  the  Bell  Frame,  which  now  stands  out  clear  and 
high  above  us  on  Vista  Rock. 


The  Bell  Feame. 


63 


XXXVI.— THE  BELL  FRAME. 

This  is  a  temporary  structure,  a  sort  of  carpenter’s  horse, 
elaborated  into  a  four-square  framed  steeple,  in  which  hangs 
the  workmen’s  bell.  But  it  is  far  too  universally  conspicuous 
to  be  omitted  from  this  book.  Vista  Rock  is  the  highest 
ground  in  the  Park.  On  it  is  ultimately  to  stand  an  orna¬ 
mental  stone  tower,  for  an  observatory,  and  for  the  banner-staff 
of  the  flag  of  the  United  States.  The  flag  is  usually  hoisted 
here  now.  But  our  flag,  like  our  nation,  is  sure  to  be  in  mo¬ 
tion  when  there  is  a  breeze ;  and,  accordingly,  the  picture  of 
it  is  a  kind  of  ghost.  Just  beyond  the  Bell  Frame  the  blank 
wall  of  the  Reservoir  lies  heavily  and  level  across  the  picture  ; 
and  over  it  is  visible  a  mere  glimpse  of  the  water  inside,  and 
of  the  .buildings  to  the  northeast,  beyond  Fifth  Avenue.  Let 
us  go  up  to  the  second  floor. 

First,  let  us  look  back  to  the  south.  From  this  high 
and  open  place  we  can  see  once  more,  on  a  new  scale,  in  new 
relations  to  a  larger  landscape,  many  of  the  subordinate  views 
which  we  have  been  considering  singly.  The  Lake  gleams  up 
to  us  from  beyond  the  Ramble ;  while  at  its  further  side  the 
grand  stairs  of  the  Terrace,  and  the  Mall  behind,  lie  in  a 
very  striking  perspective.  All  the  Lower  Park  is  spread  out 
before  us  in  one  great,  beautiful  picture ;  while  the  city  lies, 
dismal  and  distant,  outside  of  our  paradise. 


64 


Centeal  Paek. 


XXXYII.— THE  RESERVOIRS. 

Look  northward  now,  over  the  sheets  of  water  which 
occupy  this  view.  Very  different  is  the  impression  upon  the 
mind  of  the  largeness  and  unity  of  such  a  picture  as  this,  from 
that  produced  by  the  complex  intermingling  of  so  many  arti¬ 
ficial  and  natural  objects  together  in  the  southward  view. 
One  excites  and  interests,  the  other  calms  and  inclines  to 
revery ;  one  is  joyous  in  feeling,  the  other  grave.  This  is  one 
of  the  best  of  our  pictures;  clear  in  outline  and  effect,  soft  and 
pleasant  in  tone.  Consider  the  agreeable  perspective  of  that 
long  line  of  paling,  which  runs  up  to  the  second  barrier,  and 
the  trees  behind  it,  in  the  distance ;  the  delicate  lights  and 
shadows  of  the  rock  in  the  foreground,  and  the  sharpness  of 
its  relief  anainst  the  water.  The  stone  wall  in  the  foreground 
divides  the  Park  jurisdiction  from  that  of  the  Croton  Board. 
The  middle  line  across  the  picture  is  the  wall  dividing  the 
Old  Reservoir  into  two  parts;  and  the  third  line  is  the 
northern  wall  of  the  same  Reservoir.  The  New  Reservoir 
stretches  away  beyond  it,  carrying  the  water  view  so  far 
towards  the  horizon  as  to  give  quite  a  sea-like  range  of  vision. 


Street  Tunnel  under  Vista  Rock. 


65 


XXXVIII.— STREET  TUNNEL  UNDER  VISTA  ROCK. 

We  descend  from  the  Bell  Frame,  and  at  some  distance  to 
the  westward,  on  the  margin  of  the  traffic  road  (Seventy- 
seventh  Street),  whose  chasm  cuts  across  the  Park  close  to  the 
south  end  of  the  Old  Reservoir,  we  get  this  view  of  the 
western  end  of  the  Tunnel  under  Vista  Rock.  This  is  a 
roughly  arched  way,  pierced  through  the  solid  rock.  The 
great,  heavy,  beetling  mass,  bare  of  earth,  that  overhangs  its 
front,  undoubtedly  will  not  fall,  but  somehow  you  think,  as 
you  look  at  it,  what  if  it  should  fall  while  I  was  under  it  ?  To 
the  left,  the  wall  of  the  Reservoir  rises  stiffly  above  the  bank, 
surmounted  by  an  unpicturesque  paling.  It  is  a  pity  that  the 
Croton  Board  could  not  have  embodied  their  utility  in  a  some¬ 
what  more  beautiful  form. 

9 


66 


Central  Park. 


XXXIX.— ARCHWAY  WEST  OF  RESERVOIR. 

Proceeding  westward  to  the  Drive,  we  cross  it,  and  follow¬ 
ing  the  footpath,  we  soon  come  to  the  Archway  which  carries 
the  Drive  over  both  bridle  road  and  path,  leading  northward 
along  the  strip  which  connects  the  Upper  and  Lower  Parks, 
between  the  Reservoirs  and  Eighth  Avenue.  This  is  a  wide 
and  roomy  arch  of  grayish  granite,  with  sandstone  upper 
courses  and  archway  facing.  The  inside  of  the  Arch  is  of 
smooth  brick.  The  view  is  taken  from  the  south  side  of  the 
path,  west  of  the  Archway;  and  is  at  an  angle  which  exhibits 
very  clearly  the  spirited  curves  of  the  abutment  wings,  and 
the  plain  and  substantial  masonry  and  finish  of  the  whole. 
The  iron  railing  is  a  neat  and  strong  one,  and  the  open-work 
ornamental  caps  over  the  posts  at  either  end,  have  a  noticeably 
rich  effect. 

We  go  through  the  Archway,  and  forward  toward  the 
Upper  Park,  in  whose  further  portion  are  three  views,  which 
you  should  see.  At  the  right  hand,  as  we  go,  is  the  high  blank 
Reservoir  wall.  The  footway  goes  through  quite  a  plantation 
of  stout  young  firs — a  future  grove.  The  throng  of  carriages 
to  our  left  is  constant.  Here  is  an  old  house,  just  at  the  north¬ 
west  corner  of  the  old  Reservoir,  looking  blind  and  forlorn  in 
its  weatherworn  paint  and  closed  shutters.  A  score  or  so  of 
willows,  of  the  American  and  of  the  weeping  varieties,  stand 
irregularly  about.  There  are  two  children  in  the  back  yard. 
Somebody  lives  there,  then.  We  reach  the  latitude  of  the  new 
Reservoir,  and  coast  along  its  whole  western  edge,  the  people  at 


Archway  North  of  Meadows. 


67 


the  further  side  of  the  vast  artificial  lake  looking  only  about 
an  inch  high.  At  its  northwestern  point  we  step  into  the  foot¬ 
path  again,  and  pursuing  it  along  east  of  the  Drive,  we  bear 
away  to  the  northeastward,  among  open  meadows,  rocky 
tree-crowned  knolls  and  vistas,  opening  in  one  direction  and 
another,  to  a  point  on  the  longer  axis  of  the  Park,  southwest 
of  Mount  St.  Vincent. 


XL.— ARCHWAY  NORTH  OF  MEADOWS. 

The  view  of  this  Archway  is  from  a  point  southwest  of  it 
in  the  walk  approaching  it,  and,  of  course,  from  higher  ground ; 
several  steps  lead  us  down  to  it,  and  the  archway  itself,  slants 
downward  to  the  further  or  northern  side  of  the  Drive.  It 
is  of  a  close-grained  heavy  blue  stone.  The  voussoirs  are  alter¬ 
nately  picked  and  hammered,  and  the  moulding  above  is  cut 
and  smoothed ;  and  so  differently  does  the  finish  of  the  surface 
affect  the  color  of  the  material,  that  out  of  one  kind  of  stone  is 
here  obtained  the  effect  of  three.  The  buildings  seen  at  the 
right  are  those  of  Mount  St.  Vincent.  The  round-leafed  vine 
that  trails  so  plentifully  over  the  bank  in  the  foreground,  with 
that  quaint,  scaly  effect,  is  nasturtium. 


68 


Central  Park. 


XLL—  ARCHWAY  AND  CASCADE. 

We  descend  the  steps,  pass  down  a  few  paces  under  the 
Archway,  and,  turning  round,  we  see  this  little  view.  The  Arch 
cuts  down  into  the  picture,  with  its  heavy  black  mass,  defining 
it  sharply  and  judiciously ;  for,  if  we  move  forward  a  step  or 
two,  the  arch  line  lifts  above  the  young  trees  on  the  knoll,  and 
they  seem  petty. 

To  the  left  hand  is  a  Cascade,  which  falls  into  a  basin,  whose 
outlet  is  invisible ;  a  little  water -fall,  which  lends  the  life  of  its 
constant  motion  and  of  its  spattering  voice,  to  the  quiet  land¬ 
scape.  The  masonry  of  the  steps,  and  the  well-managed  group¬ 
ing  of  the  rocks  about  the  cascade,  have  a  rough  character, 
which  suits  the  scene ;  and  the  peculiar  round-leafed  nasturtium, 
with  its  foreign  air,  curiously  individualizes  the  place. 


\ 


/ 


Cascade  Nokth  oe  Meadows. 


69 


XLIL— CASCADE  NORTH  OF  MEADOWS. 

Upoist  passing  quite  through  the  Archway  to  the  north,  two 
steps  bring  us  to  the  margin  of  this  second  little  Cascade,  from 
whose  basin  a  brooklet  flows  away  to  the  northeast,  with  a 
fussy  affectation  of  immense  business.  A  clump  of  young  trees 
on  the  knoll  above,  to  the  west,  shades  the  basin ;  the  clear 
water  falls  in  little  sheets,  and  streams  from  one  rock  to  an¬ 
other,  with  a  constancy  in  form  which  is  especially  noticeable 
in  the  upper  pitch  of  the  cascade,  and  which  gives  a  photo¬ 
graphic  impression  of  that  portion  almost  as  perfect  as  that  of 
the  rocks  about  it.  The  air-bubbles  in  the  lower  fall,  and 
those  driven  down  by  it  into  the  basin  below,  render  part  of 
the  picture  much  more  indistinct  as  to  detail,  giving  a  mere 
mass  of  white  light.  The  broad,  single  sunbeam  falling  across 
the  rocks  affords  some  very  beautiful  light  and  shade,  and  the 
photograph  is  very  successful  in  representing  so  perfectly 
the  rock  surfaces  and  the  herbage  among  them. 


70 


Central  Park. 


XLIII. — THE  POINTED  ARCHWAY. 

The  three  pictures  at  the  Meadow  Archway  are  all  that 
we  give  from  the  Upper  Park.  We  return  to  the  south  side 
of  the  Drive  and  follow  on  in  the  path  by  which  we  ap¬ 
proached  it,  eastward  along  the  skirts  of  the  Meadows,  past 
the  irregular  block  of  buildings  at  Mount  St.  Vincent,  then 
southward  for  a  stretch  of  just  about  a  mile.  We  coast  along 
the  Drive  ;  arrived  at  the  new  Reservoir,  we  ascend  and  walk 
by  the  water-side ;  then  passing  over  the  unfinished  area  in  the 
angle  between  it  and  the  old  Reservoir,  down  nearly  to  its 
southeastern  corner,  we  go  eastward  through  the  Pointed 
Archway,  and  from  that  side  we  turn  to  look.  The  bank, 
oddly  speckled  with  the  spots  of  new  earth  at  recent  plant¬ 
ings  ;  the  broad  approach,  and  the  archway  with  the  plane-tree 
standing  sentry  at  its  side,  form  a  very  agreeable  little  scene. 
The  archway  is,  I  believe,  the  only  pointed  one  in  the  Park, 
and  the  spirited  feeling  of  its  upward  lines  and  point  is  a 
pleasant  contrast  with  the  quieter  sentiment  of  the  usual  low 
arch  lines.  Its  voussoirs  are  of  alternate  brown  stone  and 
bluish  limestone,  and  the  colors  have  a  very  delicate  and  rich 
effect.  The  interior  is  lined  with  smoothly  finished  red  brick, 
banded  and  starred  with  brown  stone  and  limestone  ;  and  the 
coloring,  all  together,  gives  the  impression  of  a  delicately  hued 
purple  arch. 


I 


Aechway  near  Dove-Cote. 


n 


XLIY.— AECHWAY  NEAR  DOYE-COTE. 

Following  our  footpath,  we  quickly  reach  another  Arch¬ 
way,  which  carries  us  again  under  the  Drive.  South  of  it,  we 
rest  a  few  moments  on  the  settee  by  the  walk-side,  while  we 
observe  it. 

This  Archway  is,  again,  of  the  more  usual  level  and  massive 
character;  a  low  archway,  and  a  heavy,  carefully  cut  balus¬ 
trade.  It  is  all  of  Nova  Scotia  sandstone,  and  the  plain  solid¬ 
ity  of  the  masonry  is  ingeniously  relieved  by  laying  the  stone 
diagonally,  and  showing  its  transverse  slants  by  means  of  a 
slight  chamfer  at  their  edges. 


Central  Park. 


XLV.— THE  BOY  AND  THE  SWAN. 

The  Dove-Cote,  a  curious  wire  house,  with  wooden  stands 
inside  for  the  nests  and  roosts,  is  unfinished,  and,  with  a  hasty 
look  at  it,  we  go  past  the  north  end  of  the  ornamental  pool,  by 
which  the  Conservatory  is  to  stand,  and  find  the  Fountain  of 
the  Boy  and  the  Swan. 

The  group  is  of  lead,  bronzed,  and  stands  yet  upon  a  tem¬ 
porary  base.  Observe  the  picture  for  a  moment.  A  basin  of 
some  fifty  or  sixty  feet  across,  is  it  not — and  a  colossal  swan, 
and  a  boy  of  considerable  size?  Not  at  all.  The  cunning 
camera  deludes  us  again.  The  swan  is  of  the  natural  size ;  the 
boy  about  three  feet  high ;  the  basin,  say,  fifteen  or  twenty  feet 
across.  The  swan  flaps  his  wings,  standing  with  neck  erect 
and  head  thrown  back,  firmly  pedestailed  on  his  strong,  broad 
black  feet ;  and  up  from  his  open  bill  spouts  the  single  jet, 
playing  and  sparkling,  waving  its  watery  flag  in  the  wind,  and 
spattering  down,  now  in  the  water,  and  now  on  the  gravel 
walk  ;  while  the  metallic  boy,  wet,  and  not  entirely  at  his  ease, 
leans  on  his  web-footed  pet,  looks  up  to  see  where  the  water 
will  fall  next,  and  would  fain  keep  it  out  of  his  eyes  with  his 
hand.  He  is  not  the  only  young  person  who  would  avert 
present  evils  without  removing  away  from  them. 


Summer-House  North  of  Arsenal. 


73 


XLVL— SUMMER-HOUSE  NORTH  OF  ARSENAL. 

Proceeding  southward  from  the  side  of  the  pool  where  the 
Fountain  stands,  and  ascending  a  rock,  we  enter  the  Summer- 
House,  the  view  of  which  is,  however,  taken  from  the  south 
side.  It  is  strong  and  heavy,  as  befits  an  edifice  erected  upon 
this  massy  ledge.  Its  main  posts  and  plates  are  of  chestnut, 
the  remainder  of  its  framing  and  roof  of  cedar.  The  walls  are 
of  panels  of  rustic  open-work,  set  in  between  the  posts ;  and  the 
floor  is  paved  with  heavy  flagstones.  The  crest  of  the  ledge 
on  the  east  shuts  off  the  raw  streets  on  the  Fifth  Avenue  side ; 
while  there  is  a  wide  and  open  prospect  in  other  directions, 
south  to  the  old  Arsenal,  and  over  the  rocky  ledges  of  the 
southwest  part  of  the  Park,  by  the  west  over  the  Mall  and 
the  Parade,  and  northward  to  the  even  high  horizon  line  of 
the  old  and  new  Reservoirs. 

10 


74 


Central  Park. 


XLVII.— THE  OLD  ARSENAL. 

Descending  by  a  steep  pebble-paved  foot-way,  we  go  still 
southward  under  the  heavy  sandstone  Archway  which  carries 
the  first  traffic  road  past  the  north  end  of  the  Arsenal,  and, 
passing  to  the  west  of  the  building,  we  turn  to  view  it. 

The  Old  Arsenal  is  of  date  older  than  the  Park,  and  is 
not,  properly,  a  part  of  it.  But,  perhaps,  no  one  picture  would 
be  more  inquired  after  if  it  were  not  here.  It  is  a  battlemented 
edifice,  with  turrets ;  about  two  hundred  feet  by  fifty ;  four 
stories  high ;  of  brick,  partly  covered  with  a  weather-worn  coat 
of  gray  paint;  and  with  iron-shuttered  windows.  It  will, 
doubtless,  be  torn  down  before  long,  to  make  room  for  the 
commodious,  elegant,  and  dignified  building  which  the  Com¬ 
missioners  desire  to  have  erected  in  this  part  of  the  Park  for 
the  New  York  Historical  Society,  and,  perhaps,  other  literary 
or  scientific  institutions.  At  present,  the  Arsenal  serves  as  a 
storehouse,  stable,  and  engineering  head-quarters — a  sort  of 
industrial  citadel. 


The  Oyal  Bridge. 


75 


XLYHI.— THE  OVAL  BRIDGE. 

Westward,  a  path  leads  us  to  the  Bridle-Road.  We  will 
follow  this  across  the  lower  end  of  the  Park,  to  the  Eighth 
Avenue  gate.  It  is  “  For  Equestrians  Only but  we  shall  be 
tolerated.  There  are  three  archways  which  we  must  see.  A 
few  rods  from  the  Arsenal  is  a  stone  one,  but  it  is  not  so  picto¬ 
rial  in  character.  We  pass  through  it,  a  little  further  through 
another  not  very  dissimilar,  and  soon  reach  the  Oval  Bridge, 
of  which  our  view  is  taken  from  the  west  side.  Its  name  is 
adopted  from  the  peculiar  oval  outline  of  its  arch.  It  is  of 
iron,  painted  a  uniform  dark-red  brown.  The  view  shows 
clearly  and  well  the  clean  simple  lines  of  the  principal  mould¬ 
ings  along  the  archway,  the  general  effect,  though  not  the  de¬ 
tails,  of  the  balustrade,  and  part  of  the  perforated  decorations 
of  the  haunches  of  the  arch.  It  is  a  pity  that  one  of  its  chief 
beauties  is  hidden  by  the  creeping  vines  trained  over  it.  This 
is,  the  airy  lightness  and  local  grace  of  outline  and  effect  of 
the  great  ornamental  segmented  wheels  pierced  through  the 
haunches  of  the  arch.  The  summer  draperies  of  green  might 
easily  be  trained  away  from  these  openings.  Under  the  arch 
is  seen  part  of  the  hill-side  beyond,  and  of  a  great  sheet  of 
bare  rock,  all  grayish  with  lichens. 


76 


Central  Park. 


XLIX.— THE  FLYING  FOOT-BRIDGE. 

A  few  rods  further  and  we  approach  this  Foot-Bridge,  of 
airy  tracery  seemingly  so  slender  and  so  frail.  It  leaps  across 
the  wide  Bridle-Path  with  one  single  low  curve,  and  so  light 
does  the  web  of  its  balustrade  seem,  that  we  fancy  a  wilful 
child  might  break  it  down.  But  come  under  it.  These  two 
main  beams,  on  whose  bosses  and  ornaments  the  light  glints  in 
the  picture,  you  now  see  to  be  ponderous  and  solid  castings. 
The  cross-ties  are  of  a  stiff  and  strong  T-rail  pattern,  and 
stoutly  bolted  through  the  plank  cushions  above  them,  in 
which  is  secured  the  planking  of  hard  Carolina  pine.  It  is  a 
very  strong  structure.  Observe  with  what  good  judgment  it 
is  planted  between  those  two  natural  abutments  of  living 
rock.  A  better  photograph  would  have  been  obtained  on  a 
cloudy  day.  It  is  because  the  light  gray  balustrade  stood  up 
in  the  flooding  sunlight  against  the  clear  sky,  that  its  details 
are  somewhat  obscurely  given. 


Akchway  West  of  Play-Ground. 


77 


L.— ARCHWAY  WEST  OF  PLAY  GROUND. 

We  now  follow  the  Bridle-Path  to  the  Drive,  cross  the 
Drive  to  the  footpath,  and  following  that,  around  a  semicircle, 
come  down  to  the  last  Archway  of  our  series,  the  southwestern- 
most  of  the  system  which  conveys  the  footpaths  of  the  Park 
over  or  under  the  Drive  and  Bridle-Path.  The  view  is  taken 
from  the  eastern  side  of  the  Archway.  A  breeze  was  stirring 
the  broad  leaves  of  the  catalpas  at  the  right  hand,  and  the 
finer  leafage  on  the  other  §ide  of  the  footpath,  so  that  the 
leaves  which  should  be  sharply  cut,  are  somewhat  confused 
in  outline.  The  Archway  itself  is  well  rendered.  It  is  of  the 
more  usual  massive  style,  its  level  heavy  character  being  some¬ 
what  relieved  by  the  shapely  network  of  the  balustrade,  cut 
through  the  solid  stone.  The  abutments  are  pointed,  and  the 
Archway  based  with  a  fancifully  streaked  coarse  white  stone, 
while  the  balustrade,  buttresses,  and  voussoirs  are  of  the  usual 
sandstone.  The  arch  is  low,  and  of  a  subtle  hyperbolic 
curve,  that  curiously  detains  the  thoughtful  eye.  The  lining 
of  the  Archway  is  of  clean,  smooth,  accurately  laid  brick- work ; 
the  path  below  almost  housewifely  neat.  Speak  aloud,  and 
hear  the  booming  echo,  vibrant  and  resounding  like  the  lower 
pedal  bass  in  a  heavy  organ.  We  retrace  our  steps  through 
the  Archway,  and  quickly  reach  the  southwestern  angle  of 
the  Park. 


78 


Central  Pare. 


We  Lave  now  completed  a  circuit  of  tLe  Park,  and  by  a 
route  which  gives  us  a  view  of  at  least  a  fair  selection  of 
its  natural  and  artificial  attractions.  And  passing  out — if 
we  choose — at  this  corner,  we  may  take  either  an  Eighth 
Avenue  car  for  the  Astor  House,  from  which  we  set  out,  or 
a  Tenth  Avenue  and  West  Street  car,  which  gives  us  choice 
of  disembarkation  all  along  the  western  skirts  of  the  city, 
from  the  Central  Park  to  the  Battery.  Farewell. 


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